


Polarity

by ElDiablo99



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, From Zero to Hero, I'll add more tags as i go, Pretty much all the supers in NY, Shocker needs more love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablo99/pseuds/ElDiablo99
Summary: When a Romero-style zombie outbreak hits, three super villains, led by a long time loser, find themselves doing whatever it takes to save themselves, and eventually, the rest of humanity.
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing

"Lady, take my hand!"

She's scared, and she has every right to be. Even if New York City wasn't going to Hell in a handbasket at this particular moment, and even if she hadn't seen two of her companions torn to pieces in front of her, she would probably still be nervous at the site of me just two feet away from her.

Of course, with my luck, she probably would have just started hitting me with her purse while screaming for help.

But right now, I'm her only option, and I'm screaming for her to grab my hand so I can get her out of this mess.

Something scrapes at the back of my suit. Through the quilted fabric, it feels like someone pushing a lint roller along my spine. I can afford to ignore it for the moment, because right now, it's all about this lady is huddled up in the corner of the bedroom, pushing as far away from me and the things behind me as she can get.

"Lady, it's me or these guys, and I ain't going to bite you in the butt, now come on!" Maybe it's my intimidating voice. Maybe it's my shiny silver metal gauntlets. Or maybe it's because the series of moans in the next room mean several more guests have just crashed this party. Whatever the case, she reaches out; mumbling a few words in what I think is French. When she's close enough, I grab her hand, holding it tightly and making sure she can't run away, before turning to deal with whoever is scraping at my back.

I register a form, an outline in the dark bedroom. It's lunging for me, which, as far as I'm concerned, makes it fair game. My free hand comes up, and I push the trigger with my thumb. It's a small level-one blast, but it's enough to catch him square in the face and send him flying backwards. I watch it flip over the bed, its legs catching on the mattress, and land with a thump on its side. Any other situation, the bastard could be sleeping. The lady screams at the sound of my gloves firing, but she doesn't let go of my hand.

The light of the fire burning across the street lets me see several more forms trying to push through the narrow doorway. The thing I shot in the face is motionless on the bed. With any luck, I scrambled its brains for good. Without turning, I say, "come on, we're going out the window." I have to yank slightly, but the French woman stumbles along without too much trouble.

The fire escape outside the sixth-floor window is clear. "Go," I said. I'm not sure she understands the command, but she sees me pointing with my gauntlet, and that's enough for her to climb out slowly. I don't rush her, because I don't know what the hell is out there. If she starts screaming, I'll deal with it. But, luckily for us, she doesn't. Two of those forms had made it into the bedroom before I climb out the window after her. I make sure to slam it behind me before leaning over the railing to look down. The alley looks clear, lit up by the fire raging in the building across the way. There's a few forms lying face down on the ground amidst the scattered bags of garbage, but they ain't getting back up after getting a direct blast right in the face.

The Frenchwoman is staring at me, and I get my first good look at her. She's blonde, winsome in form, and her eyes are wide with what can only be a case of pants-wetting fear. I can't blame her, really. On the other side of that window are a bunch of psychopathic murderers. And even though I'm the guy who saved her life, I'm wearing what amounts to a form-fitting quilt and shiny metal gloves and boots.

But she's from France, so she probably doesn't know who I am anyway. Maybe she thinks I'm one of the good guys.

Well, lately, I have been one of the good guys. One of the stupid, righteous, chivalrous, good guys. Go figure.

I step in front of her, going down the metal steps, moving slow enough to keep her right behind me. I can make out 10th Avenue through the end of the alleyway. Looks clear enough for me. I use my tongue to turn on my mask's two-way radio. "Aleksei, I got one more for you."

"Nice work, Herman!" Aleksei's voice is full of way more joy then the global situation calls for, but considering the potential for one little victory here, I'll let it slide. "You far from the subway? We're all still here, and no more of those creeps have shown up."

"Two, three blocks. We can..."

The sound of shattering glass causes me to whip around. We were on the second floor, passing the final window on this side of the building, when the gray hands came smashing through. On reflex, I wave my arms to shield myself from the flying shards of glass. The Frenchwoman picks right now to start screaming, and I raise my voice to make sure my friend hears me over her. "We can make it to Houston Street, keep an eye out!"

There are about three arms reaching through the broken window for us. One of them, the forearm has gotten stuck on one of the shards of glass sticking out of the frame, and the efforts of its owner is causing the glass to slice it open. The red blood that comes flowing out is in sharp contrast to the color of the skin. The Frenchwoman has backed against the railing, trying to push past me and get away from the reaching digits. I take a step forward and shove both fists towards the pane. I can't make out what or who is inside, but a level two blast should clear the nearby schmucks. It would be easy to just ignore them and shove past, but it wouldn't hurt to give a boost to this woman's morale.

FWOOSH!

The grabbing hands disappear. Immediately, I grab the woman's arm. "Come on, move, move!" I know she probably can't understand me, but in a stressful situation like this, actions count for more than words, especially with a barking American accent behind them. Part of me thinks I should drop into German, but that would just be rude and crass. Good guy, remember?

I let her climb down to the alleyway first before dropping down behind her. I was originally going to go towards 11th Avenue and see if there was anyone else in that direction, but I had gotten lucky rescuing the one civilian. I wasn't about to push my luck and risk her life. Houston Street was over on 7th Avenue, three blocks away. I still had a good charge in my gauntlets, and the suit was intact. We just had to be aware of our surroundings. I knew we'd run into more of those fucks along the way, but as long as I saw them coming, I wasn't too worried. I wasn't invulnerable by a long shot, but I could definitely outthink and out-react anything short of a howling mob.

Right. And if you believe that, I got a bridge to sell you, heads right over the river to Brooklyn, and it's currently being secured by S.H.I.E.L.D. and Uncle Sam's Misguided Children.

I point towards 10th Avenue. "Safety," I tell the Frenchwoman. She gives me a bit of a blank stare. After a few seconds, I tried words that had been on everyone's lips since that very first night. "Rescue Station?" It wasn't a rescue station I was taking her towards, because from what I saw, those places were death traps. But it was close enough, admit. No longer occupying private residences my ass.

That phrase got to her. She lit up a bit, nodding. "Rezcue," she said. "Rezcue station, yes." I nodded in response. Taking her hand, I began to lead her down the alleyway before I felt a tap on my padded shoulder.

"I am Marie," she responded when I turned around, tapping her chest.

I nodded again. "Marie."

She pointed at me. "You are...Avenger?"

That word caused me to laugh out loud. I knew, tactically, it was a bad mistake, since any sound made by a human seemed to attract mobs of the things that had swarmed over the Big Apple in the past week. But I couldn't help it. To be associated with that bunch of Boy Scouts was absolutely absurd...

Then again, wasn't I being a Boy Scout right now? I could be hiding out in a secure undisclosed location, letting it all fall down around me and a few select friends (ok, three or four select friends, and definitely a few "I'll sleep with you because it's the end of the world" female friends) and waiting for someone else to pick up the pieces. But here I was, risking life, limb, and quite literally my ass to rescue some blonde who doesn't even know who I am from nearly certain death.

I pointed to the yellow-and-brown uniform. "Non...no Avenger."


	2. You May Know My Name

My name is Herman Schultz.

You should know me as the Shocker.

I've been around for a few years. I've been arrested seventeen times. I've been convicted fifteen times. I've escaped from jail fifteen times. I've fought seventeen different superheroes, including Spider-Man, who's handed me my ass six times out of eleven. It's enough to get me on "America's Most Devious." You've seen me on TV. Five-foot-eight, one hundred eighty-five pounds, brown hair, brown eyes. Even got my own Wikipedia page.

What it hasn't gotten me is a lick of respect.

I mean, seriously. The Lizard gets more respect then me, because, and I quote here, "he represents man's losing the fight against nature." Mysterio "dazzles Spider-Man with spectacular effects." The Vulture "swoops and cackles with glee at the thought of killing Spider-Man."

One is a two-legged reptile in a white lab coat, one wears a damn fishbowl on his head, and one is a balding guy who flies. But they're "A-list." I'm "B-list." I'm a guy who doesn't even get a full response from Code Blue when I show up.

Ah...sorry. The last thing in the world I want to do is throw myself a god damn pity party. But it's the truth, and it's just one of those things that irk me. I don't have a PhD in electronics and mechanical theory like Doctor Octopus, but I built myself these very gauntlets, over four months, while working in a prison laundry. Maybe if I added "Doctor" to my name, I'd get more respect. And I thought about that, while drunk one night, until I found out there's a porno starring Ron Jeremy called "Doctor Shocker."

Granted, I didn't get into villainy solely for respect. I went in for the scores. The big payoffs, the jobs that would set you up for life. Planning for months at a time, getting the gear, gathering the people, setting the timetable...that's what I lived for. I prided on being creative and above idiots who walk into a bank during their lunch hour, start blasting, and complain when Luke Cage is handing them their ass five minutes later. The guy who caused a blackout and then spelled out his name using the ConEd power grid before demanding a million bucks to turn it all back on? That was me.

Not Electro.

Me.

In the end, that didn't make a bit of difference. Spider-Man showed up, beat me up, wisecracking the entire time, and left me hanging from a lamppost for NYPD bike cops to arrest. Meanwhile, someone like the Green Goblin (ahem...sorry, someone like the "rehabilitated" Norman Osborn) goes on a killing spree and he's considered a cunning and dangerous foe. Not the guy who planned bank jobs specifically to NOT kill anyone. Makes me a "pineapple-colored loser" in Spider-Man's eyes, even though I have a better record against him...

Granted, in the end, both Green Goblin and I get the same thing from Spidey: a punch in the face. But a guy like Osborn says "look, I'm reformed" and everyone believes him, while if I tried to pull that shtick, the first question asked would be "who are you?"

God damn it. Sorry. Trust me though, it explains my motivation for why I was doing what I was doing, instead of taking advantage of this crisis to knock over Citibank. Ok, bad example. Like Citibank had enough money for me to waste time on...

Alright, this all started when I was sitting in the Bar with No Name. There I was, celebrating my thirty-second birthday with the usual bunch of scum and villainy. One guy was running late, but everyone else was there. Fred Myers, who shares a spot on the "B-list" with me as Boomerang. James Sanders, better known as the Speed Demon. And Peter Petruski, aka the Trapster. All of us had been part of the Sinister Syndicate. Turns out, we made tolerable drinking buddies, the four of us. We usually included the Beetle, but he went legit and became MACH-I. That night, it was just us supervillains...

X

"I'm thirty two years old, and what do I have to show for it?"

"Your health, mate." Boomerang was bent over the pool table, lining up a shot. "You're healthy, you ain't in jail, and you can afford to actually pay your bar tab here from time to time." With a crack, the stick hit the cue ball, which smacked into the nine ball, which hit the eleven ball, which ricocheted off the felt and into the eight ball, which rolled across the entire length of the table before landing in the corner pocket.

"Why do I play pool with you," I said, shaking my head.

"Because I'm too good at darts," the Aussie replied. "Go ahead, loser racks, winner breaks."

"I'll rack, but see if someone else wants in. I'm gonna grab a brew."

I started taking the pool balls out of the pockets as Fred yelled across the bar towards where the other guys in our party sat. "James, Peter, you guys want in on this?"

"In a few minutes, sure." Speed Demon was popping the top off of a Budweiser as he responded. He put the cold bottle to his exposed cheek and sighed in relief before taking a swig. "Give me a few to get my buzz on."

Trapster had just finished his third beer of the evening. Getting up from the bar, he strode over to the table just as I finished racking. "I'll play, Fred. Winner gets James?"

"Sounds good." Boomerang was chalking the end of his pool cue as Trapster took a hold of the one I had been using. The pool table was ratty and had been refelted too many times to recall, but there were always brand spanking new pool sticks for us to use. At least once a week, someone would get upset and break the stick over their knees. The policy of "you break one, you bring one" had served the watering hole for a long time, and even the worst scum and villainy respected the code of the Bar with No Name.

"Just don't cheat, alright," I heard Trapster say as I sat next to Speed Demon and ordered myself a Budweiser too. The bartender had been behind the bar for as long as I could remember, no matter where the Bar itself had been located. Hell's Kitchen? He was there. When the Bar was over in Red Hook, he was the guy slinging the drinks. Shea Stadium? He had on a damn Yankees cap. All those years, and I never once got his name...

It was just the five of us at this point in the early evening. The Bar had just moved to Alphabet City, and it usually took a few weeks for the normal clientele to make their way to the new locale. At the night went on, the place would start to fill up. Tonight, though, the four of us were going to get a head start on the evening's activities.

"So why the long face, man?"

"Huh?" I had just taken a pull from the bottle as Speed Demon asked his question. "Aww, nothing..."

"Bull. I've been around the block, Herman, so don't bother playing it off. The hell is wrong with you tonight?" Demon had already finished half the bottle. He was obviously trying to get hammered, and with his fast metabolism, he was trying to drink twice as much, half as fast. It was weird to have James here. The two of us had worked on a safecracking job a few months back that had gone south when the capes had shown up. Before I could blink, the man has disabled my weaponry, taken everything out of the safe, and shot out into the street, leaving me facing some very unhappy good guys. I caught up with him, no pun intended, two weeks later, and when I asked him, at point-blank range, why he had left me to take the rap, James slid me a cold beer and said "Gambling debts. The Bookie was going to break my legs." And just like that, I let it slide.

I knew what it was like to be on the Bookie's bad side.

"It's your birthday, Herman. Celebrate, be happy you ain't in Ryker's or something." He had a point, just like Fred had made before. Instead of sitting in solitary, I was in a bar, having a brew, and could go for a walk any time I wanted. With the help of Trapster, the two of us had robbed an armored car the previous day, and I was currently sitting on $337,000 of bearer bonds back in my hideout. That in and of itself was something, since a few years ago, I had tried to collect a bounty on Trapster's head. But I hadn't, and then we worked together as part of the Sinister Syndicate without killing each other. When I needed someone to help tie up and keep the truck's guards busy while I cracked the safe, Trapster had been my only choice. I had to hold my nose while making it, but he had tied up the guards using that "glue gun" of his, and we got away quick and clean. So here I was, working on getting drunk, having more money then I had seen in a long time, and planning on using some of those funds on a hooker later that evening if the escort service decides to return my damn phone calls.

So what was the problem?

"You ever...just feel...I don't know, James, like you had the potential to just do more? Like, some great big score, or this huge heist?"

Under his red glasses, Speed Demon was giving me a confused look. Everyone wore their costumes when they came to the Bar. It identified all of us and made sure we knew who was coming in here to drink. No damn undercover officer was going to come in here in blue jeans and start asking questions about who pulled off the latest heist. My mask and my gloves were behind the bar, letting me drink without any problems. "Herman, you pulled off a big score. How much did you and Trapster get away with?"

"Nah, man, I'm talking bigger," I responded.

"What, like the time you held New York City ransom?" Speed Demon gave me a boisterous laugh. "Man, I remember that. I was in LA and I turn on the news, and there is it, Manhattan completely blacked out! And I'm trying to figure out how Electro pulled it off, but then Midtown starts spelling out your name and your ransom! That was priceless!"

"Yeah, it was," I acknowledged, "and then Spider-Man shows up and I don't get one red cent out of it. Now, if I had pulled the job off..." I get interrupted for a moment as, behind me, I could hear Trapster accuse Boomerang of cheating in that high pitched, sniveling tone of his. "...if I had pulled that job off," I continued after a moment, "I wouldn't be drinking here tonight. I'd be in Vegas, and if you guys made it there..." I trailed off for a moment, lost in a very pleasant thought.

"Dude, this is good enough for tonight," Speed Demon said. He clapped my shoulder in a friendly-for-him gesture. "If you think too big, you're gonna hurt yourself."

Tonight wasn't good enough. That was the problem. But I didn't want to drag my drinking partners down, especially since the final member of our drinking party hadn't shown up yet. So I just smiled and finished my brew, before ordering another one.

It went on like this for nearly an hour. The sun was just starting to vanish behind the buildings here in Lower Manhattan, and I was working on my fifth beer of the evening. Fred, refusing to drink American beer because, and I quote, "American beer is like slitting your wrists in the bathtub...they're both bleedin' close to water," was downing the rotgut that passed for whiskey. Speed Demon was on his twelfth beer and just starting to show their effects. Trapster? That man was smashed, and quietly mumbling under his breath about how, someday, he was going to pay me back for trying to kill him those years ago. I admit, the money had blinded me, but it was the only time I had come close to slipping. Besides, I had to keep telling him, I ended up not killing him, right?

"Alright, settle down," Demon said to the Bar, which currently consisted of the four of us and the barkeep. "I know Aleksei ain't here yet, but for all we know, the poor guy's tying up traffic down on the FDR right now." I crack a smile at the comment, I admit. "He ain't on the news, so we ain't gonna worry about him."

Demon got a fresh brew from the bartender, and held it up in the air. "Tonight...Herman Schultz turns 32 years old!" Boomerang gave me a grin and some applause, and Trapster pounded the bar with his beer bottle. "And we're the poor bastards he asked to come drink away his sorrows this evening. With his sorrows, it'll be a shitload of drinking!"

"Aw, he's rich, he shouldn't be frowning!" Trapster chuckled, even as he had his free hand on the bar to avoid falling ass-over-teakettle off his stool and onto the floor.

"He can't be that rich, I still got a damn bar tab!" The bartender eyed Speed Demon as the speedster kept talking. "But anyway, instead of running my mouth like I normally do, I'm gonna cut to the chase. Herman...the Shocker..."

Trapster laughed again, this time braying loudly. "The Shocker! Should have just named yourself Pinkstink!"

I was weighing if $337,000 was worth not capping the Trapster a few months back when Fred jumps in. "Can it, Peter," Boomerang growled from next to him. "Man's birthday, show him a bit of respect." Fred raised his glass of whiskey to Speed Demon. "Go on, James."

"Yeah, before someone interrupted me. Herman...the Shocker...32 years old...and one of the few among us who given it to Spider-Man as good as that freak's given to him. Just for that, we should be toasting you. But you're also our friend, our colleague...and the guy who buys the most rounds for all of us!" With a grin, Speed Demon raised his beer, and behind him, Boomerang and Trapster did the same. "To the Shocker, and may we be sitting in Vegas for his 33rd birthday with cold beers in one hand and something blonde and incredibly firm breasted in the other!"

"Here here, mate." Boomerang said, lifting his whiskey. We all down our drinks, the beer feeling good in my throat as I finish the entire bottle. At this point, I remember sitting there in the Bar thinking I was overthinking things. $337,000 in bonds, three friends saluting me with one on the way. Perhaps this was the best I could do, the alcohol was telling me, and I was nodding my head internally, agreeing with it. Fred put his drink back down on the bar, sliding it towards the barkeep for a refill. The whole time, he had been watching us with a wary eye, but he knew the four of us weren't going to bust the place us.

"Alright," the Australian said when he took his next drink, "let's get this poor sod his presents before we get too drunk to remember where we left them. James, you wanna run and..."

A loud 'WHOOSH' filled the Bar. The front door was banging shut on its hinges by the time my brain registered what had just happened.

"...grab 'em," Boomerang finished. "Christ, he's got a hair trigger."

"That's what his girlfriend said..." Trapster was smashed. Somewhere between Speed Demon toasting me and Boomerang making his request, he had finished his beer. Currently, he was trying to reach over the bar grab another. "...if he had one!" At this point, the barkeep was reaching for the baseball bat he kept under the bar. Rule #3 of the Bar with No Name. The barkeep got you your drink. You reach behind the bar, you're fair game. Two years ago, Mac Gargan (Scorpion then, Venom now) had tried to get a beer while chatting up Coachwhip. The barkeep broke two of his fingers with that bat before he even opened the cooler. When Gargan tried to go after the bartender, the entire clientele tossed him out, tail first. And his green ass (well, symbiote ass now) hadn't come back since.

"Whoa, I got this," I told the barkeep even I was already moving. "Come on, Peter, you know the rules." With Boomerang's help, I steadied Trapster back on his stool. "You need a few minutes between brews, man."

"I'm fine," Trapster replied. I didn't know you could slur those words, but he had found a way. "I'm fine...just need another beer, that's all."

"No, you really..."

"Aw, who are you to tell me what to do, Shhhhocker." The old man was staring at me, but the way he was swaying, I was probably one of three Shockers he was trying to focus on. "Washn't for me, you wouldn't have all thoshhhhhe bonds..."

"Think he's cut off, mate," Boomerang told the barkeep, who replied with a silent nod and moved away from the baseball bat. "Gonna move him to a table, Herman. Give me a hand?" I got off my stool to help him. The two of us picked Trapster on, one under each of his arms, and took him to the unofficial "passing out" table in the corner. His blood-alcohol level skyrocketed in the shot time we dragged him from the bar to the table, because by the time we threw him down in the chair, Trapster landed face-first on the table, sending peanut shells and a crumpled napkin bouncing away.

As my partner-in-crime started to snore on the table, Boomerang looked at me with a sincere expression. "A man needs to know his limitations."

The honest way he said it got a laugh out of me. "Yeah. Hope no one tries to screw with him. Think Peter's happy a job actually went RIGHT for once and just celebrated a bit too much." With a sigh, I shook my head, but I did have a grin on my face. "Happy birthday to me, huh?"

"Hey, mate, I wanted to take you to a strip club, but...you know...damn Giuliani." We laughed and were making our way back towards the bar when the door banged open again. Standing in front of me and Fred, with the dust trail evident on the floor, Speed Demon held a box out towards me.

"All you, man. Happy birthday, Herman." The box, about 3 feet by 1 foot by 1 foot was crinkled on one side, and packing tape ran all over it. And it was cold, like it had just come out of the freezer. I remember taking it and wondering how the hell I was going to open it. Boomerang came to the rescue, though. He whipped out one of his razorrangs and handed it over for me to use.

The guy caught a lot of flack for his choice in weapons over the years. In America, everyone assumed boomerangs were kids' toys, no different from yo-yo's or jacks. But what they forget is that the natives of Australia used them to hunt game. In Fred Myers' hands, his boomerangs ain't toys; they're deadly weapons, especially when the guy throwing them used to be a Major League pitcher. Right now, though, his weapon's serving as a packaging knife that I'm using to rip into the package.

"This one's from the two of us," Speed Demon said as I managed to get the outer layer of tape off "We were gonna split em, Boomerang and I, but figured you'd probably be around longer to enjoy them then either of us."

"That's what I told him," Boomerang told me in a low voice that Speed Demon could obviously hear. "But I honestly had no clue what to get you and just went in Dutch with James."

"HEY!"

I laughed at the standard Boomerang tactic (he uses it to avoid restaurant tabs, too) as I finally got the box open. I put all the cardboard and tape I had ripped away on the bar, along with the razorrang, before setting the box down next to it. I opened the flaps and gazed upon my birthday present...

"Happy birthday," Speed Demon told me brightly. "50 pounds of meat from Omaha Steaks."

Red meat stared back at me. Thick cuts of sirloin, some on the bone, some off, were packed tightly in the box, separated by layers of wax paper. "Holy..." I looked up at the two of them, and a smile was forming on my face. "You guys are just lucky I ain't a practicing Jew."

The two laughed heartily, and Speed Demon was saying "come on, let's see if we can get the grill in the back fired up..."

Then it all went to hell.


	3. First Encounters

The front door to the Bar with No Name swung open. The three of us turned to see who was joining the festivities. I was expecting our fifth to finally show up after running an hour late, but it could have been any one of the numerous shady clientele of the bar.

What we didn't expect was a guy covered in blood to come stumbling through the door.

"Jesus," Boomerang said as the door closed behind the guy. He stumbled forward, crashing into the bar and just barely staying upright. He had on a blue shirt that was dark on one side with a whole lot of blood, and some of it went down to his slacks, which had a large rip on the left thigh. That wound was definitely gushing blood, as a fresh red stream bubbled into the fabric when he hit the bar.

"Hel..." was all the guy got out before he fell away from the bar and landed face-first on the floor.

A few seconds passed. I was still holding the box of steaks, and Speed Demon and Boomerang were half-turned, looking at the guy on the ground. I remember the bar was silent for those seconds...

Until Trapster let out a loud snore.

For some reason, his sleep apnea broke the three of us out of our temporary stasis. I put the steaks on the bar and pushed between my two friends towards the guy. The bartender was leaning over the bar, staring down at the guy as I squatted down to check him out.

His breathing was ragged, but somewhat steady. His pulse was a little slow for my liking, however. "Come on, get this guy to a table," I found myself saying.

"What for," Fred asked.

"Because I want to see how bad he is before we patch him up and get him out of here. Hey," I said, motioning to the barkeep, "you got a first aid kit?" He nodded, and started walking to the far end of the bar. "Here, James, give me a hand, man."

Demon grabbed the guy's feet as I got his shoulders. We very carefully turned him over and lifted him off the ground. As we carried the guy past Boomerang, he stepped to the side and gave a low whistle. "Christ, Herman, it looks like a dog got to him." Up close, I could see that the fabric of his khakis had been torn away, not cut, and that a couple of buttons were missing from his shirt, along with several small swatches of fabric.

We laid him out on the table, and I gave him a quick once over. "Alright. Here's what we're going to do. I'm gonna patch him up. Fred, you grab the phone book and find out which hospital's closest. James, you're going to run him there and drop him off in the ER."

"Why would we do that?" It was almost in stereo, the way Boomerang and Speed Demon protested.

"Because if this guy doesn't get looked at, odds are he's going to die. And I think the last thing we need is someone croaking in this bar, or else the heroes ain't ever gonna let them set up shop again." I went to take the first aid kit from the barkeep, who had come out from behind the bar with a large white metal box in hand. But he waved me aside, and put the box down on the table. He opened it up and started to pull out gauze and wound pads. I just stepped back and let the man work.

Speed Demon joined me a second later. I looked over at him, about to ask him what in the hell could have happened to the guy...then I saw the black leather wallet in his hands. "You're kidding me, James. You ROLLED the guy?"

"Damn right I did. I wanted to make sure the guy has insurance before I drop him off somewhere. And..." He held up a wad of twenties. "...don't forget the co-pay"

I reached for the wad. "And don't forget YOU owe me twenty bucks yourself..."

A loud, high-pitched scream cut us off. "OH, GOD, HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP!"

Maybe I'm just a sucker for a damsel in distress. Or maybe it was a scream I hadn't heard before. Sure, in my line of work, I've had women (and some men) scream when I show up to do the voodoo I do pretty well. But they're usually a cry for help that, in the Big Apple, they expect to be answered. By Spider-Man, by Cloak and Dagger, hell, even one time, the Sentry, when he swooped down from the sky and snagged a carjacker by lifting the freakin' car.

But this scream, though...it was primal. Like this person was seconds away from death.

I was moving past Speed Demon and a phone-book-perusing Boomerang by the time the scream ended. I had my uniform on (sans mask), but my gloves and boots were on the ground by my barstool. I didn't think to stop and grab them, and in the end, that fact almost got me killed.

The Bar was in a not-quite rediscovered block of Avenue D, so seeing a bright yellow school bus in the middle of the street caused me to stop in my tracks almost as soon as I was outside. It was parked across both lanes of traffic, one end nosed into a parked car on the right side of the street. The sun had set behind the low-rent apartment buildings lining both sides of Avenue D, so I couldn't make out anything inside the bus itself. But what I did make out...

"HELLLLLLP!"

...was the lady screaming for help. Hard to miss her, but, again, late evening, New York City public school bus stuck in Alphabet City vs. lady screaming for help in a rough part of New York City. Take away the screaming, and the school bus wins in terms of "what the fuck" factor 95 out of 100 times.

The lady was in the middle of the street, lying on her back. On top of her, another man was flailing away at her, trying to get a good grip on her. The top of her blouse, I could see, was ripped open, and she was barefoot. Her hands slapped and pushed at the guy attacking her, but he just kept grabbing and groping.

Ok, I may be a villain, but assaulting a lady...unless she's an Avenger or a member of the Serpent Society, it's pretty damn low, especially if she's a, pardon the term, "civilian." Now go a bunch of steps down on that Sliding Scale of Morality, and you'll find rapists. You ever hear the joke "even villains have standards?" Well, some of us do. In either case, assault, rape, in what technically amounted to broad daylight? Outside one of the few bars I could actually still drink at in this city?

"Hey, buddy, get OFF!" I charged towards the guy, barely aware that Speed Demon and Boomerang were behind me. They took a few hesitant steps towards the woman, probably confused at what the hell I was doing.

Once I got there, I grabbed the guy by the back of his flannel shirt's collar and just pulled him right off. Spinning in place, I tossed the guy away, towards the opposite side of the street. He staggered away and landed face first between a Buick and a Nissan. I looked down at the lady. She was breathing hard, and her eyes were wide, but she was registering me standing in front of her. After a beat, I extended my hand down towards her. "Lady, what the..."

Then the guy I had thrown away slammed into my side and clawed at my exposed neck.

Before we push on, I should take the time to explain a few things about me and what I can do. If you've seen me on TV, you've seen my...unique looking costume. Basically, for the first couple years of my criminal career, I wore this homemade costume made of really thick yellow quilt patches. It added a good bit of bulk, but it also ensured that I wouldn't kill myself from using my gloves.

Gloves first. Without bragging too much...I'm a fucking genius when it comes to engineering. I dropped out of high school, but that was because...well, odds are you've been to high school. It's fucking boring. Not the geometry and physics, mind you, but English and history. Who needs them? I got disruptive enough that I was asked to leave my senior year, and I bummed my way around for a few years, working in auto shops, fixing boats down on the docks, and doing the occasional stick-up and heist. I found out I had a knack for locks along the way, and spent some time with a crew in Lower Manhattan as a safecracker. And a damn good one, too. Went independent in a few months and made a name for myself. You ask anyone who the world's best safecracker is, and Herman Schultz's gonna come up with in five names.

That ended when I got arrested and thrown into General Population at Riker's.

Jail and I didn't quite agree. So I started looking for a way out. Now, I was a safecracker, but jailbreaker wasn't on my resume. Finesse went out the window, so I decided to blast my way through the gates. Now, in a great show of New York Department of Corrections bureaucracy, they assigned me to work in the machine shop of Riker's Island. Putting a safecracker in a machine shop was dumb enough, but...you know, genius at engineering? It took me five months to put together my first set of vibro-smashers and blast my way through the wall of the machine shop and right through the wall to freedom.

The concept is actually really simple. I push the thumb triggers, and the gloves project a concentrated blast of vibrating air at intense frequencies. The best way to describe it is like having several near-solid walls of pulsing air smash into you. Depending on how long I hold the triggers down, I can control how far, how intense, and how big the spread is on the blasts. I got five distinct levels set on the trigger, from "stiff punch" (level one) to "don't press your luck" (level three) and capping off with "ever see a parking meter get stuck through a telephone pole(level five)?" And because my blasts vibrate, they can wrack merry hell on physical structures, like buildings, bridges, tunnels...and, of course, human skin and bones.

The vibro-smashers I used to break out of Riker's were hastily jury-rigged together. Once I went to ground, I adjusted, tweaked, and fixed them. The first time I fired one properly, though...well, the initial test almost fucking killed me. So when you saw my yellow-and-brown suit, what you saw was me surrounding myself in quilting so I didn't blow my skin off while using my gloves. Stupid looking, but practical, save for the occasional nosebleed. The padded suit actually served me pretty well until Spider-Man realized all he had to do was wrap me up in his arms and point my hands away from him. That summer SUCKED in terms of cash flow.

Luckily, though, I shared a cell block on the Raft (which was a step up from Riker's. Better food, for one) with Unus the Untouchable. Guy was a flake, but he gave me an idea. When I broke out, I took my suit and shoved a whole bunch of contact plates for small shock units under the quilting. Throw in a couple of motion detectors, and anytime someone tries to grab me, they go off and deflect their hands away. Makes me impossible to take completely by surprise. And as an added benefit, thanks to a concept called "trip-hammer vibration," my hand-to-hand punches are about ten times a normal human beings in terms of power and impact.

So yeah. My suit lets me take a punch from Spider-Man (and the Thing, in one case) and my gloves let me make him take a punch from the Shocker, both from long-distance and in close quarters.

Alright, I tried to make the exposition as smooth as possible, so let's get back to my first rescue attempt of the night...

The guy slams into me. My suit deflects physical blows, like punches and chops, but if someone's just trying to bull rush me, they're gonna get through. Good luck trying to grab on, though. This guy's arms and hands are just bouncing off my back, but he manages to catch me where my hood's bunched up just below my neck, the tips of his fingers scraping over the skin for a second. It's enough to cause me to spin around and get ready to shove this fuck. "Hey man, ba..."

Then I got a damn good look at his face.

Yuppie, probably 25 years old, with a head of hair stiff with gel and an attempt at a beard barely described as "scruff." He had on a blue tie and matching shirt. And I could see his teeth through the hole in the right side of his face. It looked like a dog had locked down and torn away a good chunk of his flesh. Dried blood trailed down his cheek and his chin...to the much larger hole in the side of his neck. Forget a dog, it looked like a wolf had gotten a hold of him and tried to rip his throat off.

Kind of like what he was trying to do to me. His hands came up and grabbed at my throat. My response was to simply shove the bastard. I took a step forward, putting myself between this guy and the lady, who was sitting up on the ground now, watching what was going down. The guy staggered backwards, but kept his footing. He was staring at me the whole time, his eves not once leaving me. Before he really had his balance back, he had both arms raised and stumbled back towards me.

Persistent.

I decked him as soon as he was in range. I didn't have my vibro-smashers on, but years of lugging them around, along with wearing a heavily padded suit, gave me a decent right cross. I caught him right in the jaw, easily with the way he lumbered towards me without trying to defend himself. Small problem, though. It didn't stop him. The yuppie kept coming forward, moving towards me. Not the woman he had been attacking. Me.

I cocked my elbow back, and smashed the guy right square in the jaw wit it. The pressure pad underneath fired from the impact, adding just enough oomph. That sent the guy staggering again...right on top of one of the lady's shoes. I watch as the yuppie tripped over a medium-heeled red shoe and go spinning away, stumbling towards the cars parked on the opposite side of Avenue D. Somehow, he managed to end up between two of them, with just enough room between them for his body to fall forward in a clumsy ballet...

*THWICK*

His body was at a 45 degree angle to the street as he fell directly onto the thick metal bolt that sat on top of the fire hydrant on the curb. He jerked slightly for a moment, before his arms went limp and fell straight towards the ground. His legs went out from under him too. It took a few seconds for him to stop twitching, and then went perfectly still.

A shoe. I took out the first one with a god damn shoe.

At the time, though...seriously, who the heck accidentally kills someone with a shoe? And I was damn sure the guy was dead, because the way his body was, the bolt had to be the only thing holding it up...

"Herman..." Speed Demon zipped up, joining me in staring at the yuppie's body. "...what did you do?"

"I didn't mean to, James," I protested weakly. "The guy kept coming, so I elbowed him, and he tripped! How the hell was I supposed to know there was a fire hydrant there!" I had never killed anyone before. Sure, I had come close plenty of times, but always by accident (save of course for the "drunk-so-he-missed-all-the-fun" Trapster). Killing's a line I...thought I'd never cross. That all went out the window pretty quick as the night went on, but for right there and then, I was mortified.

"Calm down, man, calm down." Speed Demon put his hand on my arm, and seemed to actually make an effort to speak relatively slowly. "It was an accident, alright? I'll testify as much in court, self-defense or something..."

"Yeah, yeah...I mean I would have seen the damn hydrant if someone hadn't parked in front of it! There's laws against that kind of thing!"

"There you go, sheila." Behind the two of us, Boomerang had helped the woman to her feet. Fred never was one to pass up a chance to chat up a girl, even when his friend was staring at the corpse of what would have been his first murder. "You're ok now, I got you..."

"The kids!" The woman had broken out of her shock (I don't know if she even saw what had happened to the guy attacking her) and was pointing at the school bus. "They're going after the kids!" Speed Demon and I turned around...

"Oh, crap," we both said in stereo.

Two guys had pushed open the front door to the school bus. Now that I was paying attention, the forms of the passengers of the bus were evident. The screaming helped as well, a cacophony of high pitched cries tinged with fear.

Assault on a woman was bad enough. But kids? Even Boomerang, who had no problem offing a cop if they got in his way during a bank heist, wouldn't touch a hair on a kid's head.

I started heading that way as Boomerang was telling the woman "stay here, we'll get em off of the kids." A dark blue form whizzed past me, though. I had barely moved by the time Speed Demon had reached the bus. One guy had already gotten inside, but the other guy had one hand on the door, trying to pull himself up onto the first step.

Speed Demon was suddenly in front of him, one hand on the guy's chest. "Back off, pal..."

Now, James had some of the fastest reflexes in the world. But the guy (Knicks jersey, I remember), his hand came up so damn fast, and wrapped around Speed Demon's forearm. Before he reacted, the guy had bent down...

"MOTHER!" James yanked his arm back, rubbing at a spot on his costume. "Son of a bitch, you..." The guy leaned forward as James spoke, and I heard one of those things moan for the first time. I've heard it a lot since, but it still scrapes across my nerves every single time it's made. The only part of Speed Demon that's not covered by his costume is his mouth and nose. Moving at the speed of sound, you encounter wicked wind resistance, not to mention that a little pebble could feel like a .22 at that velocity. From where Boomerang and I stood, it looked like the guy was trying to bite at that part of James, the exposed skin of his cheeks and lips.

His profane cry earlier had me and Fred moving as quick as we could to help him out. Now Speed Demon reacted. I could just make out the blur as James zipped behind the guy, and put his hand on the back of his head...

WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM!

The guy's head bounced off of the side of the school bus four times in rapid succession. Speed Demon stepped back and let the guy fall backwards. There was a big red splash seeping into the dent from the impact of the guy's skull, and a few drops were beginning to make trails down the yellow paint.

I noticed all of that out of the corner of my eye. I didn't even stop to think about how Speed Demon had probably killed that guy (Speed Demon kept a more...loose set of ethics, in the years I knew him), but bounded up the steps and into the bus.

The driver's side window was covered in blood, with most of it having pooled down in the sill by the time I had arrived. The keys were still hanging in the ignition, but the engine was off. I took all that in very quickly before turning towards the screaming kids. A dozen boys, maybe fifteen, and all the noise they were making, the bus was acting like an echo chamber. The guy was about halfway up the aisle, and most of the kids were crammed into the very back of the bus. When they saw me, the cries started switching from fear to...not joy, but if there was a way to sound relieved while still managing to piss your pants, their voices held it.

I moved as quickly as I could up the narrow aisleway. By the time I got there, the guy was reaching over one of the seats towards the closest kid. The kid couldn't have been more then ten, and instead of yelling, he was curled up under the window, knees pulled to his chest, sniffling slightly.

I grabbed the asshole (he was reaching for a little kid, far as I'm concerned, asshole) and pulled him back into the aisleway. A good stiff jab to the back of the head seemed to stagger him, that I had to reach out and grabbed the back of his shirt to make sure he didn't get any closer to the kids. "Get that back door open," I yelled. I had to repeat it a second time to make sure I was heard over all the screaming that was still going on.

"The back door's jammed," one of the older boys responded. "It's stuck!"

Christ. Speed Demon and Boomerang were still outside, and I wasn't sure if they could hear anything I yelled at them. I glanced over at the side windows, all of them shut, and none of them big enough for one of the kids to squeeze through. "Damn it...alright, I'm gonna keep him tied up! You kids crawl over..."

It would have been a pretty good plan, I'm sure. Something one of the capes would have thought up. Hold the bad guy in place, tie him up, as the innocent kids make their brave and miraculous escape. Heroic and dashing.

Then the guy pushed backwards against me, and I tripped over my own shoes.

The aisleway was narrow, so when this asshole rammed himself backwards, I lost my balance. Normally, not a problem, except that I banged against the side of one of the bus seats, and that twisted me around a bit, which caused my legs...you know, screw it, I'm not going to explain the comedy of errors that led to me lying on the floor of the bus with a drooling nutjob on top of me. Just accept that I did and let's move on.

So I go down, and the guy spins around and pounces on top of me. He's got several holes in his shirt, long greasy hair, and there's something dripping from his gaping mouth that I hope to God is spit (turns out, it wasn't) and he's pushing down, trying to get closer. It takes both hands on his throat to keep him upright, but I have no freakin' leverage down on the ground, and anytime I tried to kick or twist, I banged into the metal supports for the seats. The kids are still screaming, and I'm pretty sure by this point I have a nice stream of swear words going as well. "Come on, move! Start climbing over the seats!" Of course, they weren't moving, but I wasn't going to blame them. Get mad at them, yeah, but in their situation...

I was in the middle of cursing myself for leaving the vibro-smashers in the fucking bar when I hear a loud creaking sound, just before, through the gap between the seats and the guy's leg as he's straddling me, the back door of the bus suddenly rips on open. An Australian voice yells "COME ON, BLOODY MOVE IT," and it's enough to get them moving. On the bright side, I am keeping this asshole tied up, so the kids can scramble out the back.

"FRED!" I yell this without too much shame. "I'M GONNA NEED A HAND HERE!" The guy's still pushing, and snarling now. I get a good look at his shirt while trying to avoid whatever it was that he was dripping on me. Beneath a couple of the holes, I can barely make out what types of wounds are underneath. If the number of holes on his chest are indeed from what I think they are...

...someone tell me why he's on top of me, trying to do...something...to me...with five or six bullets in his chest?

"GET HIS HEAD UP, MATE!" I head Boomerang scream once the final kid is away. I push up, but the asshole's pushing right back down. I grit my teeth and lift his throat, slowly inching upwards as he's thrashing and shoving back...

"COME ON, HERMAN, GET HIS HEAD UP!"

With a bit of a snarl on my own part, I gave a good shove. As the guy's upper body got forced upwards, I could hear a familiar swishing sound...

With a wet squish, one of Boomerang's razorrangs embedded itself in the back of the guy's head. He went limp in my arms almost immediately, and I managed to shove him completely off of me. I scrambled back a few feet, looking at the sharp piece of curved metal sticking out of his skull. At the other end of the bus, standing just outside the door, Boomerang waved a hand. "HERMAN! You alright?"

I gave him a half-hearted thumbs up, before getting back to my feet and climbing out of the front of the bus. Speed Demon was waiting for me. I shoved down my urge to ask him why the hell he hadn't come on the bus after me, and instead asked another question. "What the hell did that guy to do you?"

"BIT me!" Speed Demon held up his forearm, which he was rubbing slightly. His costume was intact, but I could make out the indentation of teeth marks in the outfit. "He grabbed my arm and tried to fucking bite me!"

"One way to break a hold," I muttered. "Did he get you, James?"

"No," he replied. "Didn't break the outer layer." The two of us walked to the back of the bus, where Boomerang was waiting for us. He had climbed onto the bus to retrieve his weapon from the guy he had dropped, and was sitting on the edge of the aisleway, legs swinging slightly. "Christ," James said once we arrived, "this night went to hell in a hurry."

The emergency door was lying on the street. I had to step over it to stand in front of the Australian. Rubbing my face, I looked down at the door, and then at the jagged metal that had once been the hinges holding it to the bus. "Damn, Fred, how the hell did you get it open? Did you blow it up or something?"

"Mate, I didn't have a damn thing to do with it." He pointed over my shoulder. Turning, I saw that the woman I had helped earlier had gathered up the kids who had escaped the bus...

...and all of them were standing around the guy who I should have known would have been responsible for ripping apart the back of a school bus. The kids were all staring up at him with a bit of awe from his feat of strength, and the looks on their faces made me smile, relieved that the fifth member of our drinking party had finally made it.

"You're late, Aleksei. What the hell took you so long?"

Aleksei Sytsevich, aka the Rhino, held up a pink box, tied together with a white piece of string. "Sorry, Herman. I had to stop and get your birthday cake."


	4. I'd Like To Introduce The Band

Boomerang and Rhino.

I mentioned earlier, we're all drinking buddies, and Aleksei is one of the few people on this planet I'd call a friend. Fred comes close, but he's got a self-preservation streak that's left me hanging a few too many times.

Fred Myers, aka Boomerang, used to be a major league pitcher, and a damned good one too. Spent his entire childhood in Alice Springs, Australia, training and practicing and building up that arm of his. Once he got to the big time, though, he started taking bribes to throw games, and once the bigwigs got wind of it, they drummed him right out. Normally, that would have been the last the world heard of Fred Myers...save for the Secret Empire showing up and making him an offer.

Now, most villains have something happen to them that elevates them from "normal" to "super." Take Doctor Octopus (never, ever, EVER call him "Doc," by the way). He gets four metal arms fused to his body and becomes a master criminal. Or a guy like Hydro-Man, who can turn his entire body into water, the liquid equivalent of the Human Torch. And in the case of Rhino, he had a super suit bonded directly to his skin that turned him into a walking M-1 tank.

Guys like Boomerang, though...that's all natural. He never drank a serum, or got hit by lightning, or got a blood infusion from an irradiated cousin. He trained his ass off for years to get as good as he did at throwing a baseball. The Secret Empire recognized this, and said "hey, you want to come work for us? We think you can do something with that talent you've spent years building up." And Fred did.

I think that's why I get along with Fred, even if we've cut and run on each other throughout our criminal careers. Hey, I won't lie, I've left him twisting in the wind once or twice. But, like him, I did everything myself to become a villain. I built my gloves, I designed my suit, and I did it all by myself, the technical equivalent to spending your childhood throwing a baseball through a hollowed-out soup can. For all of Fred's flaws, he's a planner, someone who takes the time to think things out and not just break down the damn wall to rob a bank. I definitely respect that.

So the Empire outfits Fred with a stupid looking costume (the blue-and-purple motif I could stand, but adding those big boomerangs...then again, I ran around with a quilt for a good chunk of my career) and a whole bunch of neat toys. He has his standard boomerang, which can give you a damn nasty bump on your head. Then he got his razorangs, boomerangs with edges so sharp, they'll give you a nasty wound INSIDE your head, as the sap on the bus found out. Screamerangs. Gasarangs. Bladerangs...think a flying buzzsaw. And shatterangs, with enough explosive force to knock over an SUV. Remember how I said earlier that most people hear 'Boomerang' and think of a kid's toy? Doctor Octopus has four cybernetic arms fused to him that can throw around a Mack truck. Electro can shoot lightning bolts from his hands and not break a sweat.

Boomerang? He...throws stuff?

That normally lasts until they see him in action, using his jet boots (supplied by Justin Hammer, who also upgraded his weapons and keeps him stocked. They also fixed that damn suit of his to not look so stupid) to fly through the air and nail people from 30 yards away, putting one of his "toys" dead smack between the eyes.

It's impressive.

Of course, you want impressive, watch Rhino at work. Give him a head of steam and he'll knock an SUV clear into New Jersey.

Aleksei was a poor Russian immigrant who came to America alone, no skills, no family here stateside, nothing. Naturally a big guy, when one of the Eastern European syndicates needed a collection agent, or a bouncer, or just someone to beat the crap out of someone, Aleksei was the guy they went to see. He wasn't too bad at it, either, which is probably why that same group signed him up for their attempt to create their own "Super Soldier," a Captain America for the syndicate. They took Aleksei and bonded this superstrong polymer to his skin. I don't know the exact specifics (I'm an engineer, damn it, not a polymer scientist) but it gave him super strength, speed, and stamina. The horns on top of his suit were an afterthought, but they're sharp enough to cut through enhanced steel. He acted at the mob's enforcer for a long time, until he crossed paths with the Hulk and got his ass kicked by the jolly green giant. That would have been the end of it, but just like the Secret Empire found Boomerang, the Leader found Aleksei. Next thing you know, Rhino's stronger, faster, quicker, and going toe-to-toe with the Hulk...and holding his own. They've crossed paths several times since, and while the Hulk always wins, he has to know, somewhere in his brain, that he's been in a hell of a fight.

Rhino's big, he's fast...and he's not too bright.

Now, anyone calls him "retarded" and I'll level-four them right in the balls. But let's be honest, my friend ain't joining MENSA anytime soon. The Leader bombarded him with gamma radiation and, making him damn near invulnerable...and he also runs into things head-first. Don't ask him to figure out the sine/cosine of an angle.

He loves to break things, and he's always for hire to anyone who'll pay him. For all that, Aleksei's a gentle soul and treats people with kindness. I saw him smash through an entire mansion of Italian goons to rescue the daughter of a Serbian mob boss, and he (and me. Two-man job, but he did all the heavy lifting) wrecked the place. Thugs thrown every which way, three walls knocked down, and I'm damn sure the guy owning the place had it bulldozed and rebuilt from scratch. The mafia princess, though, he kept apologizing to her for the noise as I'm blasting away anyone getting close to us, and when he turned the girl back over to her father, Aleksei sat there and waved goodbye as they drove away. Tonight, he was late to the Bar With No Name because he had to stop at a little Russian bakery to pick up a birthday cake for me. Two days prior, he and Wonder Man had smashed up a good bit of Hell's Kitchen during a brawl, and tonight he shows up with a cake.

Fred? Always looking for the angles, the perfect place to put a curveball. The man went in dutch on a stolen box of steaks for my birthday, for Christ's sake.

And these are the guys I'm stuck while the world goes to hell.

X

Marie and I made it to Houston Street without any major problems. This part of Lower Manhattan was pretty clear of those things...

Zombies.

Yeah, I'll go ahead and throw out the 'z' word now. Zombies. The walking dead. I'll go into detail in a minute, but in case you haven't figured it out by now, all over the world, the dead were getting back up and going after the living. For now, that's all you need to know.

Anyway, we had a couple blocks to go from 10th Avenue to Houston Street. There was a few of those things shambling around the streets, but none of them got close enough for me to worry about. Four nights had given me a solid grasp on when to use my gloves and when to just pass on by the other side. Marie was pretty brave about the whole deal. Once we started going across 9th, she was trotting along with me instead of being pulled along. I heard her gasp a few times when she saw a zombie, but I just kept her hand squeezed in my glove and made sure we were moving forward. She didn't pester me with questions, or ask me where we were going, or otherwise do anything but keep her head down and her mouth shut.

ConEdison had kept the power on during the "epidemic," as the news kept calling it. So as I glanced toward the Battery, I could see a lot of the taller buildings still had their lights on. Nobody was home down that way, however. The commercial district around Ground Zero had emptied that first night, with everyone fighting to get home to their families and loved ones even though the government had told everyone, initially, to stay behind closed and locked doors no matter where they were. Yeah, that worked. The phrase "mad panic" would barely describe what happened all across the Big Apple. The commercial and industrial districts, which I did my best to stick to, were mostly abandoned. Any time anything crisis-like happened in New York City, the place erupted as people tried to grab whatever they could. Iron Man and Captain America throwing down in Brooklyn had led to people grabbing Blu-Ray players, cell phones, laptops here in Manhattan. When the Hulk showed up and started tearing apart Manhattan, I made a relative fortune selling the emergency food and water in my hide out to a couple of Lehman Brothers bankers.

Now, though...the first night, people had packed the streets, and the networks showed stores getting gutted in between showing people getting gutted. By the second night, the zombies were snacking on the looters. After that, only the really desperate or fucking crazy stepped outside.

Aside from the burning building back on 10th, and a few car crashes, this part of Manhattan could have passed for any typical night. The normal sounds of traffic and sirens, though, had been replaced with the occasional burst of gunfire, with concentrated staccatos coming from Midtown, probably from the S.H.I.E.L.D. cordons that were set up around Central Park, the biggest (and from what I had heard, one of the few left functioning) rescue station in the city.

So why wasn't my ass heading up that way?

Because, from the TV, there were thousands of those ghouls pushing against the barricades surrounding the park

No way in hell was I going to try to lead everyone through those things. What I was doing was keeping everyone safe, secure, and non-infected, and I wasn't going to change horse in mid-stream.

There were a few fallen bodies scattered around Houston Street Station. Most of them showed signs of blunt trauma directly to the head, with big red splotches staining the pavement and sidewalks. Messy as anything, but when Rhino stomps that big foot directly onto their craniums, it put those things down for good. The steps leading down were clear of the ghouls. I turned to Marie at the top of the steps, and pointed downwards. She gave me a puzzled look, stealing a glance towards the underground station. "Rescue station down there?"

I shook my head. "No...a friend of mine will take you to one. He's waiting for us."

"In the metro? But those..."

Before she could continue, a moan came from nearby. I didn't take the time to figure out where, what, and why, I just grabbed Marie by the hand. "Move," I said in a harsh, quiet register, "the longer we're up here, the more likely those things will find us." I pulled her along, almost causing her to lose her balance. Two flights of steps led to the pedestrian area. The cash machine in the corner had been ripped open, and the messaging system was running the same message it had for the past three nights. "ALL STATIONS ARE CLOSED. NO TRAINS ARE RUNNING AT THIS TIME." Scattered on the floor was a mass of twenty dollars bills, bus transfers, and several briefcases and purses.

We both heard the moan again, accompanied by a shuffling noise. Whatever was up there was making its way towards the top of the steps. I looked over at Marie, who was staring back at me with widened eyes. She wasn't shaking, but she knew what was up there, and what it might mean if it saw us.

I put a finger to my mask before gently guiding her away from the steps. The tunnel leading to the station platforms was too far away. If we made a run for it, there was a chance that whatever was up there could hear us, and might decide to come investigate. And there was also a chance it might see us, which meant that it would decide to investigate, and probably bring a whole bunch of friends with it...

There was a little niche, between two Metrocard machines. I pointed to it and told Marie, "hide. Go!" She moved a second later then I had ordered, but she made her way over. I winced at every slap her shoes made against the tile floor. Myself, I moved to the steps again, pressing against the wall at the bottom. Out of the sight of the steps. But in line of the sight to the rounded security mirror that was placed on the side of the stairwell, perfectly situated for commuters to see if any nefarious types were camping out. I pressed flat against the wall, back first, and stood rock still. The shuffling was easily audible, and it wasn't more then a few seconds before the shuffler shuffled into view. I couldn't make out too many details via the convex mirror, but by the way it limped, and slowly turned in place, anyone would know it was a zombie.

And it was looking for me. Or Marie. Or any other living human being.


	5. Oh Crap

"How you want your steaks done, Aleksei?"

"Medium, please."

"Four medium steaks," I told my guests, "coming right up."

Rhino sat on the couch I had designed for him. Combining the finest in illegally obtained Swedish furniture and long-lasting American workmanship, I had jammed together an Ikea futon and a Craftsman workbench to give him a place to rest his bones without having to worry about crashing through to the floor. I flipped the steaks over on the grill, searing the edges, as the three of us watched the breaking news on my flatscreen TV.

"Jesus," Boomerang said, "it's everywhere." The map of the United States was covered in red dots. Each one represented a report of assault, murder, or homicide that had been attributed to people acting like the mooks we had encountered outside the Bar with No Name. Every state had a dot somewhere inside its borders, with the majority of indicators clustered around the big cities: New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle, Pittsburgh, Dallas...

"We're getting word now from our London bureau..." The talking head, with his perfectly coifed hair and $1000 suit, held a hand to his earpiece for a moment. "...and we have confirmed, attacks by the affected individuals are taking place in the United Kingdom. London, Birmingham, and Belfast are reporting..."

The three of us were currently sitting in the warehouse serving as my current hideout. A few months ago, my old place of refuge had been compromised. A water main had broken on 18th Avenue, right above the abandoned subway station I had occupied for the previous few weeks. The water poured right into my workshop, and I barely managed to save most of the tools and components. I vacated right before the New York Water guys showed up with nearly everything, but that still left me without a roof over my head.

After spending a few days driving a moving van around New York City trying to find a new place, I got lucky. A couple months back, the Punisher had gotten a hold of Phineas Mason, aka the Tinkerer, and stabbed him in the back. Bastard left the guy paralyzed and in a wheelchair. Phineas put the word out that he was looking to get rid of his current hideout and wanted to unload it on someone "worthy." Getting to him took a big of roughhousing, as there were a ton of supervillains looking for a new hideout in the wake of the whole superpower registration mess. After beating off some of the competition (last I heard, Cyber had it out for me after I knocked out of his arms out of joint), I made it to Tinkerer and made him an offer. I'd help him do whatever modifications he needed to his wheelchair, but more importantly, I'd help him move all of his gear from his old hideout to his new one. Apparently, no one even thought to ask the guy in the wheelchair if he needed a hand with anything, but just offered him money, more money, and even more money. The guy supplies more weapons then anyone (save Justin Hammer and Madame Menace) and is rumored to have a pipeline to Doctor Doom. Money was the last thing he wanted. The old man just wanted a hand with the stuff he couldn't do anymore.

It took three days of lifting boxes, loading trucks, unpacking parts, and welding a barrel and bullet chamber to his wheelchair, but once it was done, the Tinkerer handed me the keys and the security codes to this place.

Once, this neighborhood had been a warren of abandoned and empty warehouses, used primarily by the Mafia for after hours clubs and the occasional body disposal. Over the past few years, most of TriBeCa has turned into block after block of trendy loft apartments and hip little shops. They missed a few warehouses along the way, or the mob paid off someone to not notice them. This place used to be an Import/Export company for some Sicilian concern before they got swept up in the RICO purges of the late 80's, and the building boom stopped a few blocks away in the 90's. It's in the middle of a nearly-abandoned industrial park, about a block from the water. The other warehouses, I don't think I've seen anyone go inside or out of them in the few months I've been here. Sure, someday some real estate company was going to notice a couple blocks of wasted industrial space they could turn into the latest maze of boutiques and coffee houses. Until then, though, this place was all mine.

About 3/4ths of the warehouse was filled with shipping crates. Phineas had set up a couple of traps and an escape hatch in the maze of boxes, and I added a few of my own as well. In case Spider-Man or some other hero broke in here, my plan was to make a run for it, and hope the traps held them off long enough for me to make a hasty exit. The traps aren't too complex, just flash-bangs, a couple of contact panels like the ones in my suit, and tripwires to send anyone coming after me sprawling right on their face. The escape hatch is inside an old Wells Fargo shipping container, and it leads down to a small underground garage that intersects with a storm drain, and that intersects with a small access road that'll get me the hell out of Dodge.

Of course, I had my workbench and a whole bunch of equipment and parts stashed away there too, but over the past few months, I've actually managed to make a little living area in one corner. It ain't the Upper West Side, but I got a bed, a stove with built-in grill, a table, a couple of couches, a TV (60" flatscreen, with cable, and the only thing in here I actually obtained legally), and a computer with wireless Internet. Just as good as an apartment, and rent-free too.

I pulled the steaks off of the grill and put them on plates. Rhino and Boomerang had beers, so I grabbed one from the mini-fridge before bringing everything over to them. "Here you go, guys."

"Thanks, Herman." Rhino's plate had two steaks on it, and he picked one up with his bare hand and started tearing into it. A bit of bloody juice ran down his chin as he chewed. "Damn, these are good."

"Glad you like it." I sat down on the couch next to him and starting cutting my steak as we all watched the TV. Speed Demon had left us back at the Bar with No Name, following through on his promise to run the guy who had staggered in all bloody to the hospital. He said he'd meet back up with us later.

I remember, at that point, that I was treating what had happened to me earlier tonight with a weird sense of calm. You gotta understand, we've seen some strange stuff here in New York City. This is a city where mutants battle symbiotes on a weekly basis, where demons can step into Central Park and get beaten back to Hell by Captain America singlehandedly, and where you can get attacked by your alien doppelganger during an attack on Avenger's Mansion in the morning and be having a beer during early afternoon happy hour.

Around here?

Strange is normal.

So even though there's a whole bunch of people, all over the world, who are going around attacking other people, that's not what I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about the guy I killed. And the guy Speed Demon killed. And the guy Boomerang killed.

"Justifiable," Boomerang said when I brought it up. He sat down on a nearby easy chair, sipping from his American beer with a grimace. "Mate, they were going after a group of schoolkids. You ain't gonna find a jury in the Tri-State area who'd convict you after you saved a group of kids from those guys."

"Yeah, Herman," Rhino added. He had finished his first steak, and was slowly working his way through the second one, appearing to savor the taste of every bite. "They might even see you as a hero or something," he said good-naturedly.

"Good luck with that," I responded. "I can see it now. 'SHOCKER MOLESTS CHILDREN, KILLS WOULD-BE RESCUER'. Damn Daily Bugle..."

Aleksei gently swatted me on the back. I could feel my contact-panels go off with the gentle impact. "Don't worry. No one reads that rag anyway." I joined Boomerang in giving a chuckle to that comment.

The news was the same for the next half-hour or so. A couple of reports popped up, describing incidents in Tokyo, Sydney, Mumbai, and Windhoek. It was all second-hand, however. Testimonials from a doctor in Bogota a hospital about how someone with a slit throat came off the gurney to come after him. A video from Oslo of a multi-car accident, and the driver of the vehicle, engulfed in flames, pulling himself out from behind the wheel of his truck to lunge after a would be rescuer. And, played from Youtube on CNN, the victims of a homicide bomber in a Kabul marketplace getting back to their feet, limbs missing, chests blown open, stumbling towards the cameraman.

"Herman," Boomerang asked as we watched the crowd panic, several people falling victim to the burned and charred forms, "this can't be a virus, can it? It's spread all over the bloody world in, what, an hour?"

"Little longer then that, but yeah. Most viruses I know, even weaponized ones, they don't work this fast."

"Then what the hell is going on?"

I found myself leaning forward, studying the TV a bit closer. "Magic, maybe? Perhaps another alien invasion?" Having been posed a puzzle, my mind had started to study it. I was poking around the edges, probing, listening for some part to fall into place. That's how my mind tends to work when it comes to a problem. I treat it like a combination or a tumbler lock, and try to slide the right pieces into place. It's one of the reasons I'd go so long between jobs. Every angle had to be covered, and it had to be done with a minimum of innocent bloodshed. Eventually...click. It would all fall into place.

This time...nothing was coming to mind. This was something that I had never seen before. People who should have been unconscious, or even dead, were shrugging it off...

The tumblers didn't fall into place. My mind didn't make that connection. Or maybe it just didn't want to.

"Hey, guys." Rhino pointed to the TV. The talking head, still maintaining his perfect haircut in the middle of this crisis, was talking about breaking news. "They're gonna have a press conference or something." The deskbound anchor mentioned that the first official word from the federal government was going to come any minute now. CNN cut from the anchorman to an empty podium with a single microphone set up on top. We'd all seen it thousands of times before, but it was the tag they put on the bottom that got my attention.

"LIVE – S.H.I.E.L.D. HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK CITY."

"...in a few minutes, we'll be getting an official statement from the United States Government's Department of Health and Human Services regarding the wave of violence that had swept the country. Also in attendance will be Colonel Nick Fury, current head of S.H.I.E.L.D, and Ms. Marvel, the leader of the Avengers, and they will be making brief statements on the situation at hand..."

"The Avengers? SHIELD? This is big, Herman," Rhino said after he finished his steak.

"Well yeah, Aleksei, this is world-bloody-wide," Boomerang retorted. "You're probably gonna get the capes up there, tellin' everyone to remain calm, this will be under control soon, and above all else, don't pay any attention to the lasers and burning buildings and Iron Man throwing Captain America through a window."

Rhino stared at Fred for a second. "You think they're gonna start fighting again? I thought Cap surrendered last summer."

"Oh, Christ, Aleksei..." Fred laughed. "Didn't mean it like that, mate. Never mind." He finished off his bottle of beer, and after disposing of it in the trash can with a perfect skyhook, Boomerang's voice turned serious. "Alright, mates. Here's what I'm thinking." He leaned forward on his chair, looking at the two of us. "We take a page out of Herman's book, and go find us a supermarket. Between the three of us, we clean the place out of water and food, bring it back here, and just wait for the desperate fat cats to use all that bailout money to stock up buying our overpriced goods."

I nodded half-heartedly. It was a good plan. Selling horded goods had made me a lot of money during several previous disasters. On the other end of the couch, though, I could see Rhino shaking his head. "I don't like that idea, Fred."

"Why not! Solid plan, worked for Herman here," the Australian said as he nodded in my direction, "and if we go now before there's a run on stuff, we can make a killing and keep our exposure down to a minimum. Let the heroes do all the heavy lifting while we sit here and play black market."

"I don't like that idea, Fred," Aleksei repeated. "Taking the money of rich people is fine by me, but what if someone shows up at the store who needs water or food, but it's all gone because we took it?"

"Screw em, they should have moved faster," Fred replied.

Rhino's eyes narrowed a bit at the Australian. "No, Boomerang," he rumbled, a bit of bass in his voice.

"Christ...I didn't think you'd take it so seriously, Rhino. Alright, alright...alright, how about this? We take...we take the stuff, but we leave half of it on the street, right? Anyone who wants to grab it for free, they can, alright? They don't have to pay the supermarket, and odds are the rich guys ain't gonna be street level anyway. How's that sound to you?"

My grey-skinned friend nodded. "That'll work." I could help but shake my head. There was no way just the three of us could have come close to cleaning out a whole supermarket anyway. But that was Aleksei for you. More then a lot of villains I knew, he was someone who tried to look out for anyone innocent, anyone who was in his way by accident. Get in his way, and Rhino would run you over before you could blink. Fall in his way? He'll pick you up, put you to the side, and get right back to smashing things.

"Alright, so where's the nearest super..." Boomerang was going to say more, but he got distracted, as the principal players in the press conference made their appearance.

Yep. Right there in glorious high-definition, the best pair of spandex covered knockers in the business.

I remember some guy in a suit, and of course Colonel Nick Fury would end up dominating the whole show in a little bit. At the very beginning, though...blonde haired, blue-eyed, and looking like she could kick anyone's ass, all of our attention was on the statuesque leader of the Avengers, Ms. Marvel, standing next to Colonel Fury behind the podium.

"That, guys," I said, pointing to her. "Right there, next year, my birthday. I want that, or as freakin' close to it as you can get."

"Forget that, mate, I'll be cutting in line ahead of you!" Boomerang whistled as she turned to observe the crowd of reporters, stretching a bit in her uniform. "Seriously, look at those damn legs. Woman would break me in half and I'd smile the entire time. Hell, I'd bet she could probably crack Rhino open and give him a whirl."

"I don't think she could, Fred." A few seconds of silence passed before I saw a smirk appear on the big guy's face. "But if she wants to try, I wouldn't tell her no."

By the time we had stopped laughing, the suit had been speaking for a few seconds. "...we won't be answering many questions at this time, because we still don't know what exactly we're up against. But we will release what information we have." The guy looked nervous, coughing slightly, holding the sides of the podium tightly with both hands. I'd seen that look before. I've lost track of the times I've seen that look before. A look like that, a guy acting that way? He doesn't have your money, and he's about to spin you a tale of utter bull.

"We have confirmed reports, ladies and gentlemen, of an epidemic of mass murder that is being committed, here in the United States and around the world, by an army of unidentified assassins. These attacks are taking places in villages and cities, in rural homes and suburbs with no apparent pattern or reason for these slayings. It appears to be a sudden general explosion of mass homicide. Eyewitnesses say that they are ordinary looking people, and some say that these attackers appear to be in a kind of trance. As of this moment, SHIELD has been mobilized to assist local and state law enforcement agencies, and several states are preparing to call up their National Guard units as well. The Avengers, as well, have been called upon to assist during this time of crisis."

"Christ...after the whole registration mess, they're going to the Avengers so soon? This must be huge," I muttered. Boomerang waved a hand to keep me quiet as the guy continued his spiel.

He was staring directly into the camera, reading off the teleprompter in a neutral tone, save for the occasional cough. "The official word, at this hour, is for private citizens to stay inside behind locked doors. Do not venture outside for any reason until we can determine, for certainty, the nature of this crisis. Keep listening to radio and television for special instructions. If you are at your place of employment, we urge you to stay there and not make any attempts to get to your homes. We repeat, the safest course of action at this time is simply to stay where you are. The President has called for a meeting of his Cabinet to deal with this epidemic of murder that has seized the world, and will convene within the hour. Members of his Cabinet will be joined by officials of the FBI, Homeland Security, SHIELD, and military advisors."

He looked away from the teleprompter. "Ms. Marvel and Colonel Fury have statements as well, but I will try to answer any questions I can."

And the reporters exploded.

Now the poor guy looked overwhelmed. Sitting there talking about a problem is one thing. Having twenty or thirty of the media's most rabid in your face, screaming a question that you have no clue what the hell the answer is...it's like saying "don't worry, I'll handle the customers when we rob the bank" and then having the damn Black Knight kick in the front door and charge you while screaming "FOR CAMELOT!" All the poor schmuck could do was point to one of the reporters. "Mr. Jones, do you have any idea what caused this outbreak of murder?"

"Um...at this time, we can't say for sure, but we have several theories we are looking into..."

The reporter cut him off. "Is this the precursor to some kind of worldwide alien invasion?"  
"I...I can't speculate for sure." The same reported tried to shout out another question, but the guy, Jones, pointed to one in the back, this one a female.

"Mr. Jones, does the mobilization of the National Guard units in several states mean that we're possibly under some sort of military attack, maybe by a bioweapon of some sort?"

"Uh, these attacks have occurred around the world, and as I said, the Guard is being mobilized to help assist local law enforcement in keeping the roads and railways open..."

"That bloke is in way over his head." Boomerang spoke from back near the "kitchen" area. He had popped open another beer, grimacing as he took a sip of the weak lager. "Seriously, why the hell would you send him out there, knowing the poor buggers going to get eaten alive?"

I watched as Jones wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Probably so the government can show they're doing something about this. Making the public thing it's all going to be ok once they figure out what's going on. Plus, the news ain't showing the footage of those guys while this guy's up there..."

After a few more questions, one of the reporters, who hadn't spoken yet, calmly raised her hand. Jones nodded to her. "I'd like to address this question to Colonel Fury. Colonel, can we ask how SHIELD is involved in all this? Is your organization taking the point in this crisis?"

The old war hero stepped to the podium. Where Jones was unsure and unsteady, this guy was a damn rock. "As of right now, SHIELD is mobilizing on a national level to assist the FBI and the Department of Defense in their handling of this problem," he growled. "Units across the country are assisting in keeping the American citizen safe from these attackers, as well as providing logistical support while we try to figure out what exactly is going on."

"If I may interrupt, Colonel?" Ms. Marvel stepped closer to the podium, allowing the mics to pick her voice up clearly. "The Fifty State Initiative is also currently mobilizing to provide assistance during this crisis. The call has been put out, and all registered heroes are reporting to their posts."

"Ms. Marvel, what kind of support will the Initiative be offering," the blonde reporter questioned.

"Aside from providing any logistical support we can, we will also be on the lookout to ensure certain elements do not attempt to take advantage of the current situation to stir up their own mischief." She leaned closer to the microphone, his voice lowering in tone as she spoke. "If they do, then we have been authorized by the Secretary of Defense to deal with them immediately, and with the full extent of the Initiative's authority. But hopefully, that won't be a problem."

Us three got quiet at that statement. It was the forcefulness in her voice. Fifty teams of super powered individuals on active alert, apparently with government sanction to beat guys like us into the ground...

"And that's why that had this press conference." I leaned back in the couch, smirking to myself. "Not just to reassure people the government's trying to do something about the people walking around killing other people, but that there isn't going to be anyone like us trying to take advantage..."

"Forget that, "Boomerang snorted. "Guys like Hawkeye are gonna have enough on their hands to worry about me grabbing a few cases of bottled water from a damn Walgreen's."

"That's because you're a bleeding idiot, Fred." I'm kidding, I'm kidding," I quickly apologized when I realized the man was holding a glass projectile in his hand. "But the standard criminal, he'll see it and stay the hell out the streets, thinking that Spider-Man or Hawkeye's gonna show up as he's lifting a couple of Bluetooths from the Radio Shack on the corner."

"Yeah, but where does that leave us, mate?"

I was standing up, getting ready to pull my mask back down over my face. "It means we don't got too long to rob that superma..."

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!

"Attention, attention, containment breach in laboratory number 4."

Our attention snapped right back to the TV. Ms. Marvel was still at the podium, but now she, like Mr. Jones and the other reporters, were all standing there, craning their necks with confused looks on their faces. All except Colonel Fury. As flashing emergency lights began to rotate on the ceiling of the room they were holding the press conference in, the guy was already pulling out his pistol and checking the slide. "You stay here and keep everyone calm," the microphone picked up his statement to Ms. Marvel. She nodded, and while she held up her hands, Fury turned and started walking away, towards a door on the wall behind them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm, I'm sure whatever it is, SHIELD will get it under control in a few moments..." I don't know if anyone was listening to her, though. Mr. Jones's face, I could see, had gone white. Completely drained, pants-crapping white. A few reporters seemed to pick up on the change in his demeanor. Some of them took the chance to pepper him with more questions.

"Mr. Jones, are we under attack?"  
"Is it some of the affected, Mr. Jones?"

"Ms. Marvel, are we safe here?"  
"As I said, SHIELD will get this under control quickly," the Avengers' leader responded. "There are guards at every door, and I'm sure Colonel Fury..."  
I admit, at the time, I was watching Ms. Marvel intently. Her having her arms up, hands out, trying to exude calm and confidence, was doing wonders for her rack. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fury leaving the room through the open door...and something was following him, double-time.

Someone, specifically. It took me a few seconds to realize who it was, and what they were carrying on their shoulder. I grabbed the remote control and quickly flipped up a few channels.

"The hell, mate?"

"The guy from Fox News is following Fury." I flipped past CNN, MSNBC, and Headline News, all of which were showing Ms. Marvel from different angles. But when we landed on Fox News, we cut from her to the broad back of Nick Fury.

The Colonel was stalking down a metal hallway. It was instantly recognizable to anyone who had ever been in an underground lab, a research facility, or a HYDRA base. Seriously, for the longest time I swore thought there was a company out there making pre-fabricated hallways for secret underground complexes. The emergency lights in here was flashing red, spinning in their plastic cylinders. Fury must have been really, really focusing on what was happening, because the cameraman was almost right on his ass, but he didn't notice, or if he did, he really didn't care. The cameraman was moving quick, and keeping his mouth shut as well. He just followed Fury down to the end of the hallway.

Once there, Fury turned to the right, and that's when I heard the footsteps. A whole bunch of them. Barreling down the hallway towards him was a SHIELD agent. She had an automatic weapon in her hand, submachine gun by the look. When she saw Fury, almost immediately, I'm talking "oh-crap-it's-the-boss" speed, she skidded to a stop. The woman actually sketched off a salute before Fury waved his hand at her. "What the hell's going on? We got a breach? Daniels, report."

"Sir," the woman replied. She had managed to catch her breath, and was doing a damn good job of speaking clearly and evenly. "We were standing guard outside the lab when we heard screaming and a weapons discharge. When we headed inside...sir, when we got inside, Dr Beinmann was attacking Sergeant Coleman, along..." She paused in her sentence, eyes narrowing. Daniels was looking directly into the camera, realizing who was standing behind Colonel Fury. "Um, sir..."

"Daniels, what happened to Coleman!"

The barking question from Fury snapped her attention right back to the Colonel. "Sir, the scientist was attacking Coleman...along with the specimen, sir."

"Along with the specimen?" Fury's voice rose in volume, building in anger too. "And why the hell are you out here? The entire lab should be in quarantine right now because of the alert!"

"Sir, the airlock doors didn't shut. McKenzie and Gordon are back there standing guard, sir, and sent me to find to get backup there as soon as possible."

"There should already be a full containment team on standby in case this happened!" Daniels started to protest, but Fury waved her down. "It ain't your fault, Daniels, it's the damn budget..."

The sudden sound of automatic gunfire cut through the air. Instantly, he was on the move. "Damn it! Come on." Fury pushed past the woman heading back down the red-lit hallway in the direction she had come. But instead of falling immediately fell in step behind the Colonel, Daniels turned to the cameraman. "Sir, this is a restricted area, you need to le..."  
"DANIELS, MOVE IT!"

Christ. They don't call him the Howling Commando for nothing. Fury's yell would have blown out my speakers under the right circumstances, if his order to Daniels was an indication. Daniels spun in place, and double-timed it to where Fury was. He was speaking into a communicator as he walked. "Command, Fury, I want a full team down in Lab 4 ASAP, as in yesterday, full weapons, full armor, Delta protocols."

The cameraman kept pace as well.

I was on an episode of "Cops" once, when the show was focusing on Code: Blue, the NYPD SWAT team dedicated to taking down supervillains when the capes aren't around. A bank job had taken longer then I had expected, and by the time I walked out, ten officers and a cameraman were sitting outside waiting for me. Getting past the Code: Blue guys was a cakewalk, but as I'm running down the street, holding two duffel bags full of cash, the only guy managing to keep up with me? The damn cameraman! Hauling down the block, keeping that damn light on me the entire time!

I had to admit, though, throwing a level-two that sent him into a pile of garbage bags? Not a bragworthy career highlight, but one of my personal favorite moments.

I remember all three of us were silent at this point in the evening. Something had escaped containment at SHIELD HQ, and Nick Fury was going to take charge and deal with a "specimen" directly. It had to be a guy like the ones we had tangled with earlier. What else could it be? Ok, maybe some kind of parasite, or symbiote thing that possessed or infected human beings and made them crazed psychopaths who could take a massive beating...

There's a Sinister Six joke in there somewhere. Find it yourself.

It takes a couple more turns, and then Fury and the female agent were standing in front of an airlock. Fury took one look at the structure before giving an inappropriate curse. "Why are both of these doors open? They should have closed when the alarm went off!" The gunshots were closer now, rapid stuccatos punctuated with a desperate cry. Fury had his pistol in hand, a chrome-plated .45, and the female had her machine gun at the ready. All the cameraman had was his equipment, but he followed those two straight through the airlock and what had to have been the lab area.

In that part of the building, the emergency lights were ceiling strobes, flashing brightly on the TV screen, but the normal lights had stayed on. The lab area was bright white, windowed rooms and offices on either side of the corridor. Fury had taken about five steps inside the lab area, before coming to a stop. He glanced to his right, and muttered something under his breath. The camera swung to the right as well, letting us see what had brought him to a halt.

The lab was trashed. Broken vials and test tubes littered the floor with shards of glass, mixed in with expended brass shells. A microscope and computer monitor had been knocked over onto their sides. And, splashed across the window like paint, a long, thin line of dripping red liquid. The door to the office was wide open as well, recessed into the wall. The camera panned down to the floor for a second, trying to catch the scope of the damage. What it showed the world was a long, dark bloodstain. It came out of the lab, and followed a zig-zagging pattern down the hallway. Several footprints were evident as well, a bit of white tile in a river of deep red. The shot lifted, moving up and following the stain. It reached down the hallway to an overturned gurney. The camera picked up the glint of several more shells lying in the middle of the pooling blood. It also was picking up some sort of sound...something that sounded like ripping paper.

"Daniels, that machine gun is loaded, right?"

"Safety's off, sir."

"Was that the lab the eggheads were using?"

"Yes, sir."

"No other specimens any where else in the lab?"

"Not that I'm aware, sir."

"Alright. McKenzie! Gordon! Report!" Silence met his request, and did so again when he repeated himself. "Anyone's back there, we are authorized to use lethal force, so anyone alive back there, you better say so now!"

Silence again.

Fury looked at Daniel with his eye narrowed. "You stay here, and keep an eye on that lab," he said, motioning with his head towards the stained window. Anything moves, you shoot it. And shoot to kill. Got it?" The woman nodded, bringing up her machine gun. As she covered the doorway, Fury held his pistol in both hands, a classic shooter's grip, and started to move deeper into the lab. The cameraman immediately chose to follow him. He moved around Daniels' back, always keeping the lens directly on the head of SHIELD.

The guys at CNN and the other networks had to be kicking themselves. I wanted to flip back and check out the press conference, just to see if they were still focusing on Ms. Marvel and the in-need-of-new-pants Mr. Jones. I also wondered if someone at SHIELD or in Washington was screaming for someone to cut Fox News' feed, because right now, that network was showing SHIELD's lab facilities to the entire world, and they had a good chance of catching this "specimen" on live TV for everyone to see, to show everyone what might be causing this crisis.

Fury was moving slowly and methodically. He passed several closed lab doors, all attention given to the front. The cameraman was behind him, back several feet, following Fury following the blood stain. It didn't take long for them to reach the gurney lying on its side. The fabric had begun to soak up a bit of the blood, a small line of red in stark contrast to the white cotton.

"Stay back," Fury said, "and don't get in my way."

Suddenly, the Colonel's hand shot out. He grabbed the edge of the gurney, and swung it to the side. It slammed into the wall with a loud crash, and I ain't gonna lie that it made me jump a little bit. Fury was already bringing his gun up, and snarled "move and I blow both your..."

You ever had an "oh crap" moment? Those precious little moments in life when you realize the situation you're in has just gone to complete and utter hell? For some people, it's "oh crap, I don't got enough in my account to cover the mortgage." For others, it's "oh crap, I forgot my girlfriend's birthday." For others, it's "oh crap, that's Spider-Man's fist about six inches from my face."

Having an "oh crap" moment happen to you sucks. Watching someone else have one can sometimes be hilarious. Watching Colonel Nick Fury, leader of the Howling Commandos, head of SHIELD, one of the few people who could tell Iron Man to "get lost" and pull it off?

Watching him have a moment, live on a worldwide news network, went a long way to driving home just how screwed all of us really were.

"Oh, crap," he murmured.


	6. Wrecked

The bloodstain ended in a dead body.

It was the body of a SHIELD member. It slumped against the wall, head bowed, motionless. It sat in a pool of blood, surrounded by dark red liquid dripping from the wounds on its body. Even though his chin was on his chest, I could see the jagged wound on the side of his neck. A few droplets of blood worked their way out of his throat, but it was nothing compared to his other wound, the one that had definitely killed him.

I've never tangled directly with SHIELD, but I know plenty of people who had the misfortune to. Even their dress uniforms, the stuff they were during ceremonies and fancy dinner parties, are comprised of unstable molecules. I have no clue how the hell they work, or what the theory behind them is, or why the hell someone who want to wear something with the word "unstable" right there in the damn item description. Anything made of the stuff, though, is damn near impossible to damage. Rip? Tear? Blow a hole in? Light on fire? Good luck, man. And the guy on the ground wasn't in dress blues, but what looked like full on SHIELD assault armor, military-grade or better. Stuff meant to take a bullet, a super-powered punch, or even a fall off of a five story building. The poor guy would have a bruise the next few days, but nothing would get broken or squished in the process.

The chestpiece of the armor had been peeled apart.

Let me say this again.

The chestpiece of the armor had been peeled apart.

Not pulled off, not yanked away, not cracked, not shattered, but peeled. Silver and gray layers of Kevlar and unstable molecules pulled apart. The camera pulled away from Fury, focusing now on the poor schmuck for a second. He zoomed in on the chestplate. The edges were smooth and glittered a bit, but as the shot got closer, it revealed the guy underneath, past the armor and outerwear...

Remember Outback Steakhouse, and those fried onions they had? Bloomin' Onions. You'd have this peeled, cut onion that looked like a flower, and you'd pull off the little strands of fried onion to wolf down. The best way to describe what I was seeing right now, what the whole world was seeing, was if someone had eaten all of the pieces, save for the ones on the very edge, leaving behind this empty cavity where something edible had one been.

The guy's peeled chestpiece was the outer layer.

And his chest was the empty cavity.

Boomerang caught it first. I heard my friend suddenly choking as he spit out his beer. "Oh, Christ, he's missing his guts. They're clean gone."

"The hell are you..." The cameraman had kneeled down, trying to steady the shot. It improved the lightning of the scene, and it gave me a damn good view of the agent's bottom rib bones. Below that final bone, there was nothing. No skin, no muscle. At the very bottom of the hole, a long, pink cylinder was poking out. It was some part of the agent's digestive system. And the end was a stretchy mess, like someone had pulled the rest of it away.

My Omaha birthday steak almost shot right back up my throat at the sight. I had seen plenty of blood and guts in the course of my career, but nothing so visceral. The high-definition picture didn't make things any easier as well. It took a good pull of beer to keep the bile down, but I still ended up with the acidic taste of vomit in my mouth. "Jesus, did a grenade explode inside of him?"

"It would have to have been a shaped charge," Aleksei offered. "A really damn big one."

On screen, the shot suddenly turned. To his left, Fury was calling out to someone. The cameraman apparently stood up quick, and tried to refocus the shot. It steadied, and showed Fury with his gun out. Whatever the Colonel was aiming at, it wasn't in the shot yet. We could hear Fury speaking in a clear and loud voice, though. "If you don't show me your hands in the next five seconds, I'm going to put a bullet in you. Show me your hands!"

The cameraman slid to one side slightly. The shot now encompassed the entire width of the hallway. From the dead SHIELD agent on the right wall, a bloody smear crossed to the opposite wall. Hunched over, a figure in a white lab coat had its hands to its mouth. Its' head shook vigorously, bits of spittle flying in every direction. We could see that the front of the lab coat was covered in blood, one long line and several small dots. The microphone on the camera was picking up that tearing sound much more clearly now, making it very evident...it was coming from the lab guy sitting on the ground.

"Five...four..." Fury counted in a calm, even tone. On "three," the form looked up, turning his head slightly to show he was a middle-aged man. The look on the guy's face, it was like he was in some sort of trance. His eyes weren't focusing on anything, just staring in the general vicinity of Colonel Fury. His hands came down...his mouth was covered in blood. It dripped from his lips, and when it opened its mouth, making a noiseless gasp, his teeth were stained red.

Something dropped from its hands, just outside the bottom of the shot. The wet sound it made when it slapped into the tile floor sent a chill up my spine. One hand went to the floor, and as the man started to push himself up, the other hand reached out, fingers stretching towards Fury, clawing inward as...

*BANG*

I jumped in surprise as the sound of the gunshot. A single round hole appeared in the forehead of the guy, accompanied by an explosion of bone and brains from the rear. The shot never jerked, or wavered, giving the entire planet a perfect view of Nick Fury's execution of the scientist. The body fell forward, smacking head first into the ground, just in front of Fury's feet. As he looked down at the dead body, from behind the cameraman, a female voice yelled out.

"Sir! Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Daniels. Damn it, where the hell is my containment team!"

"On it, sir! Command, Daniels, Colonel Fury wants to know...sir, 30 seconds out."

"Better then nothing! Now, where the hell is the specimen?" Fury had his pistol back up, aiming it down the corridor. "I am going to kill every single suit and tie who told us this was the best place to keep it until the CDC guys showed up..." He started forward again, stepping over the body of the dead scientist. Fury measured each step, his head turning in every direction, keeping close tabs on his surroundings. The shot stayed steady as well. The cameraman had kept the shot steady when Fury had put a bullet into the scientist. Now, it looked like he was content to stay where the hell he was. He just kept his camera on Fury as the old soldier looked for this "specimen."

"Guys...did we just see Nick Fury shoot a guy in cold blood?" Boomerang was glued to the screen, his jaw slightly dropped. "I mean, just bang, one shot, between the eyes?"

"Yeah, Fred. The guy was going for Fury," I countered, my own eyes locked to the scene in front of me.

"Huh...well, ain't no jury gonna convict us then for what we did earlier tonight, we did it in self-defense."

I could see Fred's angle, and inside, I felt a sense of relief. But right now, I wasn't thinking about criminal charges and involuntary manslaughter. Nick Fury was on the hunt, looking for someone or something that was directly tied to the scene of slaughter. I couldn't look away. I didn't want to look away. My ass would have been long gone if I had come across a dead shield agent missing his guts and some scientist covered in blood. I may have been a two-bit supervillain, but that didn't make me a damn fool. But here was Fury, playing hero, when he could have just waited for the backup...

He was passing another laboratory, when his head jerked to the right. Then, suddenly, Fury was diving backwards, leaping away from the window an instant before shards of glass sprayed into the corridor, as something big crashed through the opening. It filled nearly the entire corridor, a massive, hulking shape. Even flying backwards, Fury was firing his pistol, eight rapid shots in the space of about three, maybe four seconds. Several of them appeared to impact the huge shape, slamming into a meaty thigh and stitching several holes across its chest. Almost upon landing, Fury was slamming a new clip into his pistol. In the time it took for him to reload and aim, the cameraman was in action, zooming in to give the viewers a clear look at the bloody face of Fury's assailant.

It was a face I knew well, even without the purple mask.

Dirk Garthwaite.

The Wrecker.

X

If you ever wanted to talk about a case of right place, right time, Dirk Garthwaite was one of your top-five examples. Guy used to be a construction worker, got fired for violent tendencies, and then started looting places and leaving a crowbar as a calling sign. So one night, he's breaking into a hotel room. Turns out, Loki was renting the room at the time. Yeah, Loki. The Nordic God of Trickery. Not a guy pretending to be Loki. Loki. The guy had rented this room in an effort to get his powers back after Odin, had taken them away, and he's making a deal with some Nordic Queen to get them back. So Dirk breaks into his hotel room and knocks Loki out. Yeah, one punch, knocked out a god, a god without powers, but still...

So Dirk's looting the room, and he finds Loki's helmet. In a moment of pure whimsy, the guy puts the damn thing on...and in that exact same instant, this Queen appears and thinks Dirk's Loki, and next thing you know, Dirk's walking around with superhuman strength, stamina, durability, and his crowbar's the biggest damn baseball bat on the planet. I watched him knock down a Wal-Mart with one swing of his crowbar. Not part of the Wal-Mart, the entire damn store. Guy's dumb as a post, though. I always knock on Aleksei, but my friend's got a good sense of street smarts. Not Wrecker. There's a reason Thor kept putting him back in jail, because "hit it, hit it again, hit it again" doesn't work against the God of Thunder.

The two of us never got along, mainly because I was always jealous of the guy. I built my gloves out of bits of wire bedding, whatever I could get from the machine shop, and a couple of metal cafeteria plates, all while avoiding daily beatings and shower rape. Here's a guy who literally stumbles into godlike power and can't think of anything more to do with it then hit things. I plan heists, pull together resources, and go toe-to-toe with Spider-Man, all to be considered a laughing-stock by the hero community. Meanwhile, a guy like the Wrecker throws a tanker truck over the side of FDR Drive and he warrants a full response from the Avengers.

X

"SIR, STAY DOWN!"

The shot suddenly jerks to the side. You could hear the cameraman yelp in surprise at the sound of a submachine gun firing a few feet behind him. On the left edge of the screen, the bullets were slamming into the Wrecker's chest, making a neat, ragged circle in the middle of his dark-olive uniform. I counted two, maybe three bursts of controlled fire, shots that would have put any normal human being down for good.

The Wrecker's response was to start moving forward. I'd seen the guy shrug off blows from Thor, so it doesn't surprise me that he's walking through a hail of bullets. In moving forward, the cameraman was able to focus directly on the Wrecker's face.

Or what was left of it.

The right half of his face was intact, though the eye was slightly clouded over. The left half, though, was missing everything. The outer layer of skin, from his chin up to his eye, and back to where his should have been, had been ripped away. I could see the muscle clearly, but it should have been dripping blood, instead of being dry. The edges of the massive wound were ragged, and his teeth, stained a cherry red, clicked as he lumbered forward. One hand...

As opposed to his face, dark blood dripped from his glove. It coated the purple material in its entirety. And I could make out the reflective threads of silver material in sharp contrast to the deep red all over the Wrecker's fingers.

One hand reached down towards the still grounded Fury. The Colonel had reloaded his gun, and took aim at the Wrecker. His growling voice shot from the speakers. "HEAD SHOTS, DANIELS, TAKE HIM DOWN!"

The stream of bullets from off-camera shifted upwards, joined by single shots from Fury's pistol. The three of us watched as what was left of the Wrecker's face disintegrated under the hail of gunfire. Which should have been impossible. The man took direct shots to the jaw from Thor's hammer, which had a lot more stopping power then a 9mm, and got maybe a bloody nose. Skin and muscle was flying off under the assault, but the Wrecker didn't seem to notice. He kept pushing on, still reaching for Fury. His mouth opened wide, the Wrecker's face nearly a skull as the tissue was shot away. The gunfire slackened a bit, as Daniels yelled "RELOADING!" It took maybe three seconds for the sound of semi-automatic fire to pick back up. The first burst from Daniels turned out to be the last. The Wrecker's left eye suddenly exploded as one of Daniels' bullets struck directly into the socket. Milky fluid squirted into the air, and for a split second, the Wrecker was perfectly still, one arm outstretched. When he started to fall over, Fury had to roll quickly to his right. The supervillain crashed into the tile floor, sending the overturned gurney a few inches to one side. Fury scooted backwards a few inches from the body, the pistol still aimed at the Wrecker's head. Dirk didn't move, though. Daniels' shot had put him down for good.

"God damn it," Fury breathed as he stared at the motionless Wrecker. "No one told me this..."

"Sir, to your right!"

Fury's head, and his pistol's aim, snapped to that side. The gurney's movement gave the cameraman a perfect line of sight to what Daniels had been warning her commanding officer about.

The SHIELD trooper was getting back on his feet.

A loud crash came from behind. Not on TV, but behind us. Rhino and I immediately spun around, and I found myself raising one of my hands in reflex. Boomerang had dropped the bottle of lager, and it shattered on the concrete floor of the warehouse. His gaze was locked on the TV, his jaw dropped in disbelief. "No way." Boomerang breathed in disbelief. "No way, mate, that guy's missing his guts!"

"Sir?" Daniels's voice held a cautious, inquisitive tone, asking for orders. Fury was getting to his own feet as the trooper's hand flailed in the air. It came to rest on the side of the gurney, and the guy used it to help leverage himself to his feet. He moved...almost like a marionette being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer. One arm jerked, then his leg shot out, then his other legs buckled under. But he was getting to his feet. The trooper's gaze reminded me of the scientist's earlier (It had been about a minute or two, all caught in high-definition brought to you by Fox News) look...confused, almost trance like. At one point, the trooper was bent over, using his other hand to push off of the floor, fingers sinking into the pool of blood their had collected underneath him. The camera failed to catch it directly...luckily...but you could make out something fall from his chest cavity through the hole torn into his armor. The splashing sound it made, though, as it fell into the pool...

"Screw this," Fury said. He took a step forward, putting the pistol right to the soldier's head. That action seemed to finally grab his attention, and it was starting to turn its head when Fury pulled the trigger. Just like with the scientist, brain matter exploded from the back side of the soldier's head, and he slumped to the ground, his head next to the still unmoving Wrecker's. As we watched, Fury followed with a second shot into the soldier's head, along with one to the back of the Wrecker's. After a few seconds, he turned to face Daniels. The camera caught his side profile, jaw working, his eyepatch clearly visible. "Daniels, seal off this area, find out where that containment team is, and tell them to report to me for a serious ass kicking." She nodded, spinning around and going towards the airlock door. Fury followed, and, moving quickly, so did the cameraman. He caught Fury's statement, the words that pretty much blew the 'official' story out of the water before it got any traction whatsoever.

"Screw Norman Osborn and his suggestions. I am not going to allow motherfucking zombies in my motherfucking headquarters."


	7. Snap Decisions

A few seconds later, the feed finally cut off. The Fox News logo appeared on the screen, along with the standard words. "WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. PLEASE STAND BY." Some guy in Washington had finally found the right guy in New York City to scream at, and someone flipped a switch or pulled a plug. But by this point, the damage had already been done.

Boomerang had flopped back down into his chair. His eyes were wide with shock, just staring at the TV screen. I remembered that I was rubbing my face, fingers going over my chin again and again, trying to comprehend what I had just seen. My mind was sliding tumblers, going over the events of the evening with a lockpick. It made sense...but I didn't want to admit. It was too over the top, even for all the stuff this city had seen. I kept putting mental crime tape over everything, just sealing it off and telling the rest of my mind "nothing to see here."

It took Rhino to charge right through it.

"Herman, did Nick Fury just say the word 'zombie?'"

After a few seconds, I responded. "Yeah, Aleksei. He did."  
"Ah, CHRIST!" Boomerang had his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth. "You have...this has to be a joke, or something. Zombies? The living dead? Come on!" He looked up at me in confusion. "I mean...Mysterio. This has to be one of his tricks, or some kind of prank. Squibs and stunt work, right?"

I found myself shaking my head, remembering the way the Wrecker's face had looked before being shredded by bullets. "That'd have to be one hell of a trick for Beck to pull off, man. The whole world? No, that's way above anything he's ever done."

"No, Herman. No way." The Australian ran a hand through his short brown hair, eyes wide. "Impossible."

Really? Aliens, magic, demons, symbiotes, mutants, Hollywood special effects, Boomerang could believe. The living dead, though, was something he just couldn't grasp his mind around.

Myself? I had just watched a SHIELD soldier try to stand up and walk without the benefit of a digestive system. The scientist's face, covered in blood. And one of the toughest, strongest, roughest villains I knew put down, for good, with a bullet to the eye, and the coup de grace was delivered by a legitimate World War II hero. The tumblers were sliding in my head. It made sense. After everything I had seen tonight, the concept of dead people lurching around, going after people and having them for dinner?

It clicked.

Rhino reached for the remote control. "Aleksei," I asked, "what are you doing?"

"I want to see what CNN's saying." He went back down a couple of channels, back the anchor we had originally be watching."...losing our feed to SHIELD HQ." The anchor was staring into the camera, his mouth working a bit, but he struggled to find something to say, disbelief and confusion evident on his face. "Um...we'd like to...apologize...for that footage we just aired, ladies and gentlemen, and for its graphic content. Um...as soon as we get an official word from Washington about Colonel Fury's use of the word...we'll be sure..." He stopped for a moment, eyes leaving the camera. All that time being taught to read the teleprompter, and now without it, faced with something absolutely extraordinary, the guy with the $1000 haircut couldn't string together a simple sentence. It wasn't too hard. Folks, we just saw Nick Fury shoot three people live on national television, and apparently, the unburied dead are returning to life, seeking human victims. Easy.

But in the face of this crisis?

"We'll be right back."

And they cut away.

Even during 9/11, they didn't cut away. When the Avengers and the Secret Avengers were going at it hammer and tongs a few summers ago, they didn't cut away. Hell, the cameraman who caught Captain America's order to stand down did it from a distance of 10 feet! Now, though...a Hyundai commercial, for their new hybrid, played on CNN.

"Aleksei, check MSNBC." He obliged. Commercial. CNBC? Commercial. Headline News? Commercial. A quick look at CBS and NBC also showed commercials, and the local Fox station was showing the same "TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES" sign that Fox News had.

"Man, they worked fast," I murmured as Aleksei went to check ABC...

"...exclusive footage, Charles, and it's just...I can't begin to describe what I'm seeing here right now."

I sat up, eyes drawn instantly to the screen. Out of all the networks, somehow, ABC hadn't gone to commercial. The TV was showing a shot of a city street, from above. It took me a few seconds, but I realized, once I heard the sounds of the blades, that a helicopter was hovering over a street somewhere. When the voice spoke again, I immediately recognized who it was: Stephanie Andrews, traffic reporter for ABC 7.

"Charles, if you can hear me, I'm currently above Desgrosses and Greenwich Streets in Lower Manhattan...and the scene below me could be a perfect example of Hell on Earth."

The helicopter was low, maybe 30, 40 feet of the ground. The camera panned slowly from the left to the right, doing its best to show us each side of the street and the intersection. Just after where Desgrosses crossed Greenwich going towards the river, two cars and an SUV were tangled together. The SUV's grill had plowed into the side of one of the cars, and the other car had slammed into the back of the SUV. Gathered around the cars were five, maybe ten people, right up against the metal of the automobiles. Maybe ten more bystanders, moving slowly towards the crash, lurched up Greenwich Street. Nearby, a small crowd huddled together on the ground, hunched over. Their backs blocked the view of the street.

"The crash occurred a few minutes ago, Charles, as one of the cars ran a red light and was T-boned by the light truck sitting down there. Almost immediately, a crowd began to gather, coming from the nearby stores and alleyways. The driver of the blue car pulled himself from the wreckage..." Stephanie's voice broke for a second, but quickly recovered. "The crowd assaulted the driver as he stumbled from the scene. He made it a few feet before four or five of them overwhelmed him and pulled him to the ground. The rest of the crowd closed in on the cars, and have trapped the passengers inside. We can see the crowd banging on the glass from up here, Charles...and if what Colonel Fury said is true, then the safety of the passenger is indeed in question."

"Herman." Rhino nudged me gently with a broad shoulder. "Isn't that where the 7-11 is?"

He was right. There was a 7-11 on Desgrosses, where I got my munchies and late-night, post-crime-spree snacks, ten, maybe fifteen minutes from the warehouse. Easily within walking distance...or lurching distance.

"Someone's coming out!" On screen, the driver's door to the rear car had opened. The person inside shoved the door against the mob, trying to force it. Two guys stumbled backwards, knocked to the ground, and whoever it was tried to pull themselves out of the car. I couldn't make anything out other then long black hair. They tried to move away from the car, but the things pushed back against the door. Three forms shoved back, and whoever it was ended up pinned against the frame, trapped by the door. Even while airborne, over the sounds of the helicopter's blades cutting through the air, the microphone picked up the faint sounds of high pitched screaming.  
One of the things on the ground had gotten back up. It reached out, and grabbed a hold of the driver's long black hair. The screaming got more audible as his or her head got yanked to the side. He or she put an arm out to try to get leverage...and two of the guys pinning them to the car immediately grabbed it. I could make out their heads lowering just before the crowd converged on the passenger, a mass of hands reaching in and obscuring them from view.

"Oh my God," I heard Stephanie mutter. "Charles...oh, God..."

The camera stayed focused on the scene for a few seconds, but when the passengers in the SUV made a break for it, the shot thankfully switched. The mob, it seemed, had been distracted by the screaming passenger from the rear car enough that whoever was in the SUV decided to run for it. The passenger side door flew open, and a figure climbed out. One of the nearby forms lurched for him, but the guy from the SUV shoved him away. Right behind, another person got out of the SUV, this one with blonde hair.

You could see it, from above. The crowd just...shifted. It was like watching a flock of geese change course in mid-flight. Almost instantly, they stopped moving for the SUV, and started going for the pair who had escaped the SUV. Arms reached, heads turned, and legs moved, in that order. The pair wove their way through seven or eight of those things, easily avoiding them, but everywhere they turned, another one seemed to pop up. If I moved my eyes from one of them, whenever I glanced back, two more had popped up. From the alleys, from other storefronts, and from Greenwich and Degrosses, they flowed, maybe ten more showing up in the time it took for the couple to complete their brief journey.

"Charles...they made their escape...and it looks like they're seeking refuge in a convenience store...and...and the crowd is still attacking that passenger...I...I can hear her screaming still..."

"Christ," Fred said in a low voice. "They're screwed."

I couldn't tell you, at the time, why I did what I did. At the time, I just did it.

No thoughts of glory, or the key to a city, or even a "Lewinsky" from the blonde. One second, I was sitting on the couch, watching ABC. The next, I was grabbing my vibro-smashers from the recharging station on the workbench.

"Herman?" Fred watched me from the chair as I slid them on. "What are you doing?"

The vibro-smasher for my right hand is the first one I put on. I pushed the trigger with my free hand. The small vibrations that buffeted my hand indicated that it was functioning properly. "That's four blocks from here, ten minutes, maybe seven if I run." I locked the glove on my hand and wrist, twisting to click it home. "7-11's are pretty secure. If they lock the door and shove some stuff to block it off, I can make it there before those things bust inside."  
"You're...you're crazy, mate!" Boomerang shook his head in amazed bewilderment. "You're actually going to go out there and fight through a herd of...a herd of bloody zombies?"

"They'll be distracted trying to break in," I rationalized. I was repeating the process with my other hand, locking and initializing my weapons. "I don't have to deal with all of them, just the ones in my way. I can outrun them, and if I clear a path, so can the people inside the store."

"Again, you're bloody crazy!"

Maybe. But at the time...I didn't think I was crazy. Insane, maybe, a little voice screeched at the back of my mind. The rest of me? No way was I going to sit on a couch, grill a steak, and drink beer while, four blocks away, people were being attacked, mobbed...and probably eaten. Four blocks. No way.

I turned away from the workbench to look at my friends. Rhino was sitting on the couch, still watching the scene on television. Fred had gotten up at some point in the process. "Herman..."

"Yeah," I heard myself saying in response. "But I'm going." I studied my friend up and down. He was shaking his head in disbelief, watching me get ready to possibly go commit suicide on national television...though with my luck, they'd probably lose the feed and come back just in time to watch Spider-Man or someone swoop in and save the day while also arresting me for breaking and...

Damn it, Herman. Too much time thinking, not enough time moving.

I was heading towards the warehouse's main entrance when Rhino stood up from the couch. The furniture sighed in relief as the massive Eastern European rolled his neck as best he could in his bonded armor. "It'll be faster if I carry you, Herman," he said, walking over to meet me.

"Aleksei, you don't..." I started to say.

"Do you think I'm going to sit here and watch you break into a 7-11 all by yourself? Besides, you need someone to watch your back."

I didn't show how relieved I was that Aleksei had decided to join me. What I was doing was stupid, like "going 12 rounds with the Lizard" stupid. No way was I going to ask Boomerang and Rhino to join me and risk their lives...but having a 700 pound walking tank beside me bettered the odds.

I slapped Rhino on the arm in gratitude, before turning to Boomerang. I knew Fred, and I knew the answer before I asked the question. "Fred, you coming?"

"HELL NO!"

The forcefulness of his reply actually made me laugh, the sound of joy echoing through the warehouse. "You're the sane one of the trio then. Alright, you hold down the fort and close the door behind us. If you need to activate the security system, the code's 461967."

"Whatever...just don't get yourself killed. Crazy bloomer..." Boomerang muttered. He walked back to the couch and plopped down, eyes on the TV which still showed the feed from ABC. "And close the damn door behind you."

Rhino and I walked to the small man-sized...well, Rhino-sized after a few mishaps...door to the side of the massive sliding loading door for the warehouse. You might think we were walking with purpose, with power, a cocky, arrogant walk you'd see guys like Bullseye or Johnny Storm pull off, like two gods who were about to wade into the heart of darkness and bitch slap a couple of corpses for violating the laws of nature.

Well, friends, the only thing that was going through my mind was how many beers I had drank that evening and hoping I didn't end up pissing in my costume, either from fear or from having broken the seal. That would have been great, especially on live television. It had happened once to Stilt-Man. Poor guy. At his wake, we were still telling that story while toasting his memory...

No time for a bathroom break now, though. I pulled my mask over my head, securing it tightly around my neck. A few deep breaths through the fabric to acclimate. Gloves on. Suit's powered up.

"Let's go, Aleksei."


	8. The Targeting System

Rhino let me down onto the pavement about fifty yards from the 7-11.

I'll let you in on a little secret. Rhino's fast. Maybe he's a little slow upstairs, and his fighting style is more in line with that of a sledgehammer then a katana. But you let him get a head of steam and a straight path, and there's nothing on the face of this planet, and I'd be willing to lay money down the same's true among the stars, that he can't bowl over when he gets a full head of steam. Mainly it's his mass, but years of carrying around that armor that's bonded to his skin give my friends legs like pistons. When he goes all out in a sprint, Aleksei can move.

He's panting a little as we stand side-by-side on Degrosses Avenue. It had taken six minutes, total, to cover the four blocks. This time of the evening, Lower Manhattan was almost deserted of automobile traffic. After making our way out of the warehouse district, the streets had been clear. One car passed us along the way, going southbound towards the Battery as we headed north. I wonder what the driver thought as he saw this grey beast running up the West Side Highway with a guy tucked under his arm. It wasn't the most glamorous way to travel, and every time I bumped against his arm or his side, my contact plates would go off. It bounced me around, and somewhere in my head I knew I'd feel it the next morning. But it got me and him where we needed to go, and that was the important thing.

Along the way, I had noticed that the things...yeah, I know they're zombies, but at this point, it hadn't quite sunk in yet. It screws up the narrative, but hey, I'm telling this story and this is how it all went down. Don't worry. In just a bit, we all start throwing around the "z" word with impunity. For now, though, my brain understood the concept of a zombie, but it hadn't worked its way into my conscious thought yet. The things were just that. Things. Assailants. Murderers. Ghouls.

And before arriving at our destination, they had been conspicuous by their absence.

There had been three, live and in vivid color, at SHIELD HQ. My last look at the TV has shown probably thirty of those creatures at the intersection, and half of them had been moving towards the 7-11. Based on those numbers, I had expected to have run through and dodged past a decent-sized amount of ghouls. We saw two, maybe three, along the way. I say "maybe" because the third might have just been a drunk homeless person in a dumpster.

Standing next to Rhino, it was easy to figure out why the numbers had been low. All those ghouls we should have passed had made their way here in the hopes of joining the buffet. Or maybe they were drawn by the sound of the ABC 7 traffic copter.

"Jesus," I said quietly. There were two small groups of maybe five things each. One group, about thirty feet away from where we stood, was huddled next to the blue car, crouched on the ground. The other group was near the driver's side door of the furthest car. Both groups were quiet, the occasional snarl or growl eminating. If I didn't know what was going on around the world, by the way they knelt and crouched, arms moving and jerking in their small circles, it would have reminded me of a basement craps game. It was the pair of legs sticking out of the nearby circle that killed that image, though. One foot still had a loafer on it, while the other foot was missing. The entire lower leg, actually, below the knee, was gone.

Past that closet circle, a group of creatures pushed against the glass store-front of the 7-11. The inside was still lit, but that's all I could make out through the pounding hands. "Tell me you got a plan, Herman," Rhino asked me. Beside the small groups and the mob attacking the store, I would have guessed maybe ten more of those things stood between us and the 7-11. The ten were all moving very slowly, even for those creatures, something hampering their mobility. But they still walked, pushing towards the storefront. So intent on their goal of attacking whoever was inside, the guy in the brown-and-yellow quilted suit and the seven foot tall armored tank went unnoticed for the moment, even by the helicopter filming the scene overhead.

"They're so slow, Aleksei...I think we can just walk right past most of them." I pointed towards the glass. It was holding solid, but I couldn't see if anyone inside had made any barricades or "improvements." "If we get close enough, you watch my back and I'll get everyone out. Can you handle these guys?"

The sound of cracking knuckles was like rifle fire to my ears. "Easy," Rhino replied. "And I bet they can't break my skin, either."

"Don't get cocky," I warned him. "Now come on." We started moving towards the store, moving to our left towards the sidewalk. The storefronts leading up to the 7-11 were dark, a few of them with shutters rolled down for the evening. Sidewalks were clear all the way to the storefront. I remembered hoping that maybe the few parked cars and shadowed awnings, mixed with the cover provided by the helicopter's noise, would give us a free and clear walk right to the mob.

Our plan didn't survive five feet.

One of the things in the nearby circle must have glanced up or heard the sound of Rhino's footsteps. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stagger to her feet, staring directly at the two of us. In her hands, grasping it like a piece of watermelon, was a lower leg missing its foot. In the wash from the helicopter's spotlight, I saw that the woman was missing her lower lip...and the blood from the pieces of the leg she had devoured was running down her chin like rain from an overflowing gutter.

She dropped the leg, and raised a hand to point at us. I saw her mouth open, a gush of red liquid escaping. Immediately, the group turned. In nearly one fluid motion, save for the poor guy who was missing half his neck, four heads (five from No-Neck) turned to look at us. Four sets of eyes gazed at us, but instead of the trance-like stare that I'd had seen outside the Bar with No Name, they were locked directly onto myself and my friend. I know it couldn't have been more then a second, but I felt like I was being eyed like a roast hanging in a butcher's window.

As one, all of them lurched forward. The guy in the ripped Nets jersey tripped over the leg still attached to the body, and smacked face-first in the pavement. The others, though, stumbled, trying to stand up at the same time they reached for us. Their upper bodies twisted as they stretched their arms for us, their legs still trying to push themselves up to a full staggering position.

The harsh spotlight was now shining directly on them. The reporter had either noticed the sudden motion of the crowd, or the arrival of Rhino and myself. The glare washed out their features, details lost in the white light. Six black forms, now almost fully upright, staggered towards the two of us. The enhanced audio sensors in my mask picked up, over the helicopter blades slicing through the air, a low moan that pushed through the noise. Almost immediately, the guys in front of us joined in. It was...I wouldn't go so far as to call them the screams of the damned. But the noise scraped across my brain, a mix of animal growling...and want. A primal need, a soul desperately craving something...

A hand fell on my shoulder. "Come on, Herman," Rhino said. "If we stand here..."

My friend didn't need to finish that sentence. I turned away from the crowd moving towards me. There were six of them, but there were moving really damn slow. One of them shook like a seizure patient with a broken leg as he walked, and the other weren't much faster. But there were coming towards us, and that was enough for my ass to get in gear. I ripped my gaze away from the six schmucks stumbling in the spotlight, refocusing on the 7-11 in the distance. "Alright, we can just..."

She was only ten feet away and staring right at us. If she had been more then fifteen, I would have eaten my proverbial hat. Pretty thing, the very definition of jailbait. Shoulder length blonde hair. A tight yellow t-shirt. Hiphuggers and heeled boots. And one blue eye staring directly at the two of us, the other socket hollow and caked with dried blood. With a snarl, she stalked towards us, her hands claws, moving with driven purpose.

"Oh, crap."

X

Here's where I'm supposed to give you the standard "I plowed into the heart of danger, ignoring my fear and counting on my strength and my cause to carry the day."

Instead, I'll tell you what I was really thinking.

"Notgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgood!"

I had dealt with two of these things before, back in Alphabet City. Both times I had assumed they were drug-driven psychos who had a hard on for attacking women and little kids. Now, though, here it was...in my face. Coming directly for me. Teeth bared like Sabretooth. And playing off the fact that she only has one god damn eye.

Zombie.

She was a zombie, this fifteen year old girl who would have spurned a debate between myself, Boomerang, and Speed Demon about whether or not jail time would be worth it (and, for the record, my answer would probably have been yes). She wanted me. My flesh. My blood.

Jesus Christ, I was in a Max Brooks novel. The opening salvo of World War Z ground bursting right here in Lower Manhattan.

Boomerang. Right now, that bastard was probably popping open yet another beer and watching me freeze up live on national television. And I can imagine the smirk on his face. "Told you so, Herman," his voice said in my head. "Playing Boy Scout? Bad idea. Getting smashed? Good idea. And let's keep in mind, mate, the helicopter overhead is still broadcasting to a worldwide audience. So they're gonna see one of two things. The Shocker, famed criminal and renowned safecracker, turning tail and running away from a fifteen year old girl. Or the Shocker, famed criminal and renowned safecracker, getting torn about and eaten by a pack of wild zombies. Devil and the deep blue sea, mate..."

Third option. Do what I came here to do, rescue those people in the 7-11, and not look liked a fool or a damn coward...or a corpse...on national TV.

The girl is about five feet away, reaching for me with blood-caked fingernails, when I raise my glove and give her a level one-blast to the chest.

The girl staggered backwards a couple of steps before managing to right herself. I really didn't expect anything different, after seeing the abuse the Wrecker took earlier that evening, but it did give me momentary pause when she staggered right back towards me, making...or needing...no effort to shake off my attack.

Fine. This time, I held the trigger down a little longer, a level-two vibration, wider in scope and stronger in effect. I catch her in the same place I did before, right in the middle of her chest. This one knocked her down, as she rocked backwards before tripping over her feet and landing ass-first on the street. There, I thought, starting to move forward, that should keep...

As I watched her get back up, bearing her teeth at the meal in the quilted suit, I was faced with two options. Both choices came from deep within my brain. Normally intellectual, inquisitive, and informed, the primal portion of my mind decided to take over. One part was screaming "flight," turning tale and running from this girl who just wouldn't stay the hell down. I recognized that voice. It had been in my ear the past few weeks, whispering sour words about how I blew a job again, or how I had barely gotten away from the NYPD without anything to show for it, or how Paladin landed those redhead twins down in Miami during my last attempt at a score. Right now, instead of playing the calm, cool, collected devil on my shoulder, it had grabbed a firm hold of my ear, forgoing slickness for volume.

"She's a teenager! You blasted her twice! She's still coming for you! And there's about a million more of her surrounding you! Get the hell out of here!"

The other half of my brain, the part that chose the "fight" option...it knows me better. It's the part that's kept me in the business all these years. Instead of screaming, it whispers its words, slicing through all the fear and volume and cutting directly to where it'll get my attention most.

"Spider-Man wouldn't run."

Level three. It's enough to knock out an unprotected target with a direct hit. Both gloves, side by side, aimed directly at this little teenager who had her decaying mind on Shocker tartare. The ensuing shockwave was enough that I could see the zombie flanking her to the right side, about seven or eight feet back, stumble slightly, and its long black hair billow from the vibration of the air.

A level one shockwave feels like a direct punch to the jaw. A level two shockwave feels like a direct punch to the nose. A level three feels like I punched you in your kidneys. Both of them. Level four is like I went through your sternum, grabbed your kidneys, and crushed them like a grape. And level five? You don't have kidneys anymore. Or a sternum. It'll liquefy your organs like an overpressure wave from a fuel-air explosion bomb.

If you think about it, the human body's an amazing piece of work. A level five blast will annihilate a storefront completely. A human body? The skin will stay intact while the organs, and some of the smaller bones, become jelly.

The shockwave, at this range, slams directly into her chest. It lifts the girl off of her feet and sends her flying backwards. She slams into another zombie, and both of them fall to the ground in a tangled heap.

I don't care if you're dead or undead, no one gets up from...

...she's getting back up.

Her arms are broken. I can see that as the girl kneels on the ground, trying to push herself up with limbs that can't support her weight. Her radial bone is sticking out from her left arm, and each time she puts weight on it, I can hear it crack a little more. But it's not her arms I'm really focusing on...it's her face. Her remaining eye is fixed on me, and her teeth...several are missing, either from the impact of hitting the pavement or from the vibrations catching her in the jaw. Still, she's snarling at me, a wolf preparing to pounce on its prey, even if she can't make it to a standing position...

The helicopter was still above us. The spotlight was illuminating me, Rhino, and the two zombies my last blast had knocked down. The whole world had seen me smack this girl three times, and each time..."God damnit," I cursed, getting ready to let loose a level-four vibration. "Why the hell won't you stay down!"

"Because you're not getting them in the head!"

I half-turned, then fully turned my head to look at my friend towering above me. Rhino was looking at the girl, his eyes focused on her efforts to get upright. "Colonel Fury shot the Wrecker in the head, Herman. Try shocking them there!"

Click.

Of course! Oh, I'm a bloody idiot.

The guy falling on the fire hydrant. Speed Demon slamming the guy into the side of the school bus. The bladerang to the back of the head. Fury shooting the Wrecker's eye out. It's the brain, I realized...ok, ok, Aleksei realized it. I had spent my entire criminal career training myself to always aim for the center of mass, to ensure the largest possible surface area would get caught in my vibrations. As such a close range, my vibrations didn't have a chance to spread out like they normally died. I kept upping the power, but it all went into the zombie's chest, and I could wail on that all day and not stop the creature.

Kill the brain, though...and you kill the ghoul.

It sounded reasonable. And what I had been doing the past few seconds... would you believe all the above blasting, theorizing, hand-wringing, panicking, and rationalization happened in the space of fifteen seconds? Time slows to a crawl when you're having this much fun...it didn't phase me at all. I had a new plan. I knew how to adapt.

My feet moved of their own accord. I closed the distance between myself and the girl with the useless arms. I was barely aware of the helicopter overhead, the harsh white light just not registering to me at that moment. Remember earlier when I said I wasn't going power walk out of the warehouse? When I saw the video later, I was striding towards this girl, who just a few scant seconds before had almost caused me to run away like...well, a little girl. I looked confident, proud...and sure of myself.

And why not? The tumblers had fallen into place, the lock had been turned. I had this situation in hand. That little voice of panic that had been screaming into my ear was muted, and the voice of reason, of confidence, was up to freakin' eleven.

She reached for me, but with broken arms, her hands just hung limply towards the pavement. Broken teeth and an empty eye socket tried to lunge forward, but to no avail.

I put my right hand out, thumb on the trigger, aiming directly at her forehead...

Level two blast. Just to be sure.

Click.

At point blank range, the blast snapped her neck. I could hear her collarbone break as her head rocked backwards. The air around my fist shimmered slightly as the vibration slammed into the girl's face. Her snarling stopped instantly, and her body fell forward. She landed chin-first, her body in a crushed upside-down v on the pavement, her lone eye staring into the distance, past me, her former just-out-of-reach-Biggie-Sized-meal. A thin trickle of blood pooled from her nose, dripping onto the pavement. But most importantly, she wasn't moving, she wasn't getting back up, and she wasn't trying to eat me.

Problem solved.

Yeah, I felt proud for putting down a fourteen year girl with two broken arms and little to no cognitive thought process. In the supervillain world, you took your pimp moments when you could get them.

Next to her was the zombie that had been knocked down by her impromptu flight and almost back to his feet. He was about seven feet away, I judged as I threw a level two at him. From that distance, his head didn't snap back, but he froze in place for a second before falling to the ground. Good. If I had to throw level threes and fours around, my gloves would go dry in a hurry. I could keep level twos up for a good long...

I felt something fall onto my shoulder. My contact pads activated immediately brushing whatever it was off of me. I quickly spun around. In front of me, just two feet away, a middle-aged man missing his jaw was reaching out for me again. His $1000 suit was covered in blood and gore. Where the lower half of his mouth used to be, what was left of his tongue slowly moved back and forth, and the best he could offer was a strangled gargle as he tried to grab me again...

I remember reaching back, and smacking him in the forehead with a palm thrust. The metal of my vibro-smasher clunked dully against his forehead. Jawless staggered backwards a few feet before hitting a wall. But he was still up and mobile. I had hoped that any type of head trauma would be enough to knock these things down for the count, but from the looks of things, the brain had to be completely scrambled before the dead would die again.

The guy pushed off from the wall...a seven-foot gray wall.

Rhino simply reached out and grabbed the guy by his shoulders. Massive gray hands squeezed tightly as my friend spun around. Jawless left his feet as Aleksei played 'discus thrower,' spinning around once before letting the zombie fly...right past me. Well, three feet past me, but still, ravenous undead creature, a bit too close for comfort. I followed the thing's flight...which ended abruptly, as it slammed into a group of three zombies that had been staggering in our general direction. I quickly looked around, and realized, that in the past thirty seconds or so, Rhino and I had become surrounded.

God damned tunnel vision. I had focused so much on the problem of the little girl who wouldn't stay down that I had allowed the two of us to be cut off. Don't get me wrong, there was room to move, and a good solid level three or four would probably mow these guys down like wheat before the reaper...

(I had to wonder, very briefly, what the Grim Reaper was up to...but quickly slammed that Pandora's Box shut)

...but still, being surrounded by thirty members of a slobbering horde of flesh eaters was a situation to be avoid at every single cost possible. The helicopter's spotlight shining down upon the two of us, lighting us up like a big neon buffet sign to the crowd, didn't help matters.

"Let's move, man. Clear the way." Aleksei moved in front of me, where a former Mets fan was dragging a broken leg behind him as he came for the two of us. With a swing of his arm, Aleksei knocked him off of his feet. The limper flew through the air, coming to a halt when he crashed into the side window of the SUV, sending safety glass tinkling onto the pavement.

My gray-skinned friend moved at a light jog, his large feet stomping into the pavement with every step. He swung his arms to clear the path to the 7-11 of the undead, each motion a wide, sweeping attack. Those few zombies that managed to avoid his blows I'd finish off at close range. I stuck with level two blasts, powerful enough to put a zombie down without putting a serious drain on my vibro-smashers. By the time we reached the sidewalk outside the store, about ten zombies were motionless behind us, clearly marking our path of destruction.

A couple of zombies had been pounding on the full-length glass windows that ran along the front of the store. As Aleksei and I had gotten close, most of them turned to face us. One, however, kept pounding on the front door. He was either oblivious to the pondering footsteps of Rhino, or was that focused on the prize waiting him inside. There was one zombie to the left, and one to the right as well, that were now stumbling towards the two of us. "I got this guy on the left, Rhino. Get the other two."

"On it, Herman." I watched as Aleksei took two steps forward...and punched his zombie in the face. A light jab that packed a lot of power regardless, the zombie's head snapped back from the impact. His body slowly toppled, falling like a domino to the pavement. "Damn," my friend exclaimed, "these guys are fragile."

"Well they're dead, Aleksei." I had my fist pointed towards the zombie that was stumbling towards me. This close to the store, I didn't want to risk a vibration damaging the plate glass window that was right beside me. I had to tell myself to be calm and a little patient, which was hard to do when there's an undead cannibal in an "I 3 NY" t-shirt bearing down on you. Damn tourists...

I think of a level one blast at a shot from a .22 caliber pistol. It isn't messy, but at close range, it still has a lot of stopping power. The poor schmuck just dropped. Behind him, only one lone zombie stumbled up the sidewalk between the parked cars and the storefronts, far enough way that I decided to save a charge and deal with him when he got closer.

The zombie that had been pounding on the front door finally decided to give us his attention. Behind him, the 7-11 could have been open for a normal night of business, save for the coolers and shelves that had been piled in front of the door. A Red Bull case formed the first line of defense, followed by a ice cream cooler, a round ice chest with the Pepsi logo emblazoned on the side, and then a few more displays. Beyond that stood the first row of shelves. Just over the top of overpriced boxes of Lucky Charms (and as an aside here, $5.37 for a box of Lucky Charms? No wonder I agreed with Fred that we should rob a supermarket), I could see a crown of blonde hair, hiding behind the collected goods.

I was wondering how we were going to put this one down without breaking the front door when Rhino, in his own direct way, solved that problem. With one hand, he grabbed the back of the zombie's head, entangling the greasy black strands in his fingers for a moment, before simply hurling the creature to the ground. I didn't even have a chance to register anything specific before Rhino lifted one massive foot.

"Skull damage, right?" Then Aleksei drove his foot down onto the guy's face.

The way the guy's head exploded under Rhino's stomp reminded me of the old comedian Gallagher. It was like using a sledgehammer to crush a watermelon. Bits of skull and a whole mess of blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. It dripped down the lower half of the front door to the 7-11, sprayed out into the street...and all over my ankles. "Oh, that's freakin' gross, Aleksei," I said, shaking one of my legs to get as much of the gore off as I could.

"Sorry, Herman," he said. "I just figured...you know."

"I do, and it worked. Just watch your blast zone next time."

So there I am, shaking one leg, and then the other, keeping a hand on my friend's chest for balance. And then I realized...the spotlight was still shining on us, showing the whole world my attempts to combine dry cleaning and the Hokey Pokey.

The pilot had to be as low as he dared to go. Under my mask, the electronics in my ears washed out the sound of the rotors. But the prop wash was sending bits of paper and other debris scattering around the intersection, and whipping the hair and clothing of the remaining zombies. I took a brief moment to scan our surroundings. In our little trip from the edge of the mess to the front of the store, fifteen, maybe twenty zombies lay in our wake. That was the good news. The bad news was that there were still twenty, maybe twenty-five more about. But the good news from that aspect was their distance. 30 seconds, tops, before any of them were close enough to cause Rhino and I any serious distraction. And only one zombie stumbling up the sidewalk, our planned escape route.

We were going to pull this off.

"Keep an eye out, Aleksei, and yell if they get too close." I knocked on the door with my vibro-smasher. "YO!" I banged a few times, careful not to break the glass. "Hey! You guys in there! We're here to rescue you!" The glass shook a bit under my efforts. When no one peeked up from behind the shelves, I banged a little louder. "Hello! Come on, guys, we're on a bit of a sch..."

Someone rose up from behind the shelf. A young punk rocker, a spider-web tattoo on his neck and piercings in his nose, spit in my general direction. "You're not robbing this store!"

My eyes went wide under my mask as he leveled the shotgun in his hands at me.


	9. Serving the Community

I built my suit to deflect punches and kicks, and in the course of my criminal career, it's also turned out to be great at absorbing energy blasts. Laser blast, sonic blasts, poison blasts, my multi-layered suit just takes the beating without too much wear and tear. My body, on the other hand, looks like a roadmap of the Carpathian Mountains afterwards, but codeine-laced Tylenol's cheaper than having to stitch up my suit every time.

Still, my ass hit the ground when I saw that pump-action Remington aimed in my general direction. Lasers and plasma is one thing, but bullets HURT. I can shrug off a laser blast without too much pain, but a bullet'll rip through my suit like a knife through butter. Rhino just stood there, one hand raised to protect his face, as the clerk pumped a round into the chamber and took aim at the front door. I covered my head, expecting to catch a stray pellet or two amidst a bunch of falling glass...

"What are you doing?" Rising from next to the clerk, an older Latino man shoved the barrel of the shotgun into the air, towards the ceiling and away from the two of us. Luckily, the weapon didn't go off, but I was careful not to make any sudden moves as I raised back to my feet. "You're gonna shoot the door open and let those things in!"

The clerk kept the shotgun pointed at the ceiling, and motioned towards the two of us with a free hand. "Dude, they're trying to break in! I ain't gonna let them come in here!"

"Son, that's the Rhino. If it wants to come in here, he's gonna come in," the Latino responded with a raised voice, "and that peashooter you got ain't going to stop him, either."

"Actually..." Rhino raised a hand at this point, speaking loudly so he could be heard through the glass. "...we're here to rescue you guys."

Silence for a second. The only sound, aside from the traffic copter, were the moans of the dead. The yelling had agitated them and when I glanced over my shoulder, I felt a little more concerned as they shifted from Mach 0.000001 to Mach 0.000002 in terms of ground speed.

"Pull the other one, Rhino," the clerk said, beginning to lower the shotgun...

"Hey, if we wanted a damn Pepsi, there were plenty of other places to get one along the way!" I got closer to the glass, hoping that, even with my voice amplifier, I could be heard clearly. "We saw you were in trouble on TV and came to rescue you!"

In the defense of the incredulous looking clerk, if I had heard myself saying that to myself, I would have thought it ridiculous too. If it had come from, say, Boomerang or Speed Demon, it would have been downright unbelievable. So I saw where he was coming from, but with the hordes of Hell getting closer, I was not about to argue with this guy. I was going to save him whether or not he wanted it.

Don't tell anyone, but in that moment, I gained a small measure of respect for Spider-Man. If this was the stuff he went through in the course of being a hero and saving the day, I'd take having to put up with the likes of the Trapster or the Wingless Wizard over it in a heartbeat.

"Wasn't there a blonde with you?" So engrossed on the two guys arguing over whether or not to plug me, I had totally forgotten about the blonde until Rhino mentioned it. So yeah, chalk up that it takes being threatened with a shotgun to blank out about the girl. From behind the display, slowly, a young girl peeked over the boxes of cereal, blonde hair set back in a ponytail. "Is that all of you?" Rhino asked.

"Yeah...so how are you going to get us out of here," the Latino asked.

"Simple. We'll open the front doors and we'll clear a path..." That's all I got out before the clerk started to aim his shotgun at me again.

"Screw that, holmes. My ass ain't going outside for anything. I ain't gonna get eaten by one of those things!"

"Look, we cleared a path, and we didn't see a single one of those things until we got here! It's clear down to the West Side Highway." I turned, and thumped my friend on the chest. "We can handle anything that comes our way, but man, we gotta go now!"

The Latino stepped out from behind the display case. I felt a little apprehensive, since he was within 'stop the barrel from pointing at the Shocker' range, but he was moving towards us, and I'd take that one little victory. "Do you have a safe place to hole up, Shocker?"

"Yeah, four blocks away down in a wareh..."

Behind the Latino gentleman, the back door to the 7-11 suddenly flew open. It swung open quickly, and as I watched, two zombies spilled inside, crashing onto the floor. Behind them, two more of the undead stumbled into the store, nearly tripping over their fallen comrades. A high pitched scream came from the blonde, now standing upright, as the ghouls started to move towards her. The clerk, to his credit, spun the shotgun around. He knew how to use it too, setting the stock against his shoulder before opening fire. The head of the zombie bringing up the rear exploded as the buckshot ripped through his skull. But that still left three more...and another one that walked through the now-open door, ready to join the party.

Aleksei reacted at the sound of gunfire. "GET DOWN," the Rhino roared, his voice echoing down the streets and off the glass. Both hands reached out and grabbed the handles to the locked doors. Realizing what my friend was about to do, I stepped out of the way, to the side, as, gritting his teeth, he simply ripped both doors away, metal shrieking as it torn from the frame. Without pausing, Rhino turned around to dispose of the doors...

They had closed the distance fast. Maybe the commotion had agitated them, and the sound of the shotgun had been the final nail in the coffin. One of them, wearing blue surgeon scrubs that bore a long tear down the side, was five feet away from my friend. Never one to get fancy, Rhino got out of danger by bringing one of the doors down over its head. I covered my face as, with a one-handed swing, the glass shattered, driving shards deep into the brain of zombie. It dropped to its knees, the bottom half of the door hanging around his neck like a twisted necklace. Pulling his arm back, Rhino turned and sent the other door through the air down the sidewalk. It clipped one zombie in the shoulder, sending both the ghoul and the door spinning. The wayward metal and glass knocked down two more zombies before finally impacting on the sidewalk.

On my side of the street, the ghoul who had been blocking our path earlier was still taking his time getting to us. I sent a level-two his way, though, and the window of the flower shop cracked from the vibrations. As the zombie fell motionless to the ground, behind me Rhino was shoving the makeshift barricade out of the way, trying to force his way into the store. The Latino gentleman grabbed the girl and moved her towards the barricade, skidding to the side once Rhino began to shove his way through. The clerk stood his ground, unloading another barrage into the oncoming storm. This shot took two of them in the chest, sending them backwards...but another zombie stumbled into the convenience store, four "live" ones and the headless one on the ground.

"Rhino, I'll cover the outside, get them out of there!" The now-doorless entryway was big enough for Aleksei to fit inside, and with a sharp cry, he finished getting the rest of the barricade out of the way. As he went inside to collect the rescueees, I stepped behind him, facing outside, my gloves side-by-side, at the ready to blow away any ghoul who tried to get close. The helicopter's focus had shifted again, and now the bright spotlight focused on me

There I was, alone on the sidewalk, with a parked car flanking me on both sides and Aleksei handling the back. I counted fifteen dark forms shuffling towards me. Their combined moans were audible over the prop wash of the traffic copter, building on each other. If Hell had a choir, this would be what their warm-ups would have sounded like. I brought my gauntlets up, extending my right arm and aiming at the closest ghoul. One blast, and it shuddered slightly before falling to the street. Automatically, I swung around, locking onto the next target. The vibration sent several pearls from its necklace flying as the zombie tumbled backwards. She knocked into another ghoul, which I elected to quickly finish off while it was distracted. Three down, twelve to go.

I had this.

Behind me, I could hear Rhino taking care of business, a roaring cacophony that left damn little to the imagination. The shotgun went off one more time, before being replaced by the sounds of heavy display cases being flung around with ease and reckless abandon. Shattered glass, the rattle of plastic bottles, the crunch of potato chips being stepped upon. I saw it all going down in my mind, along with one cry of "get him off me" coming from the clerk. Part of me wanted to turn around and watch Aleksei, even for a second, be the proverbial bull in the proverbial china shop. I quickly squashed that urge by sending a couple more level twos in the horde.

"Herman, we're clear!" Instead of turning around, I took a couple of steps backwards, to let Aleksei stand in front now. Next to him, the clerk still cradled his shotgun, and the blonde (early twenties, definitely a looker) was being held by the Latino man. The three looked out at the advancing horde, with the Latino muttering a small blasphemy under his breath in Spanish.

"You got them all, Aleksei?" My friend smirked, and waved a grey fist at the 7-11. One look at the wrecked convenience store confirmed to me that, for the moment, our rear was covered. "Fantastic. Alright, no need to hang around here anymore. Come on," I said, "it's about four blocks to my place. It's secure, we can hole up and catch our breath."

Again, my plan didn't survive five feet.

I took the lead, putting the three civilians between myself and Rhino, and I hadn't even taken two damn steps before something whizzed past my face. An arrow quivered in the doorframe of the flower shop, just inches from having embedded in my body.

"Alright, Shocker, let the hostages go." Crouched on one of the parked cars, a young girl in a purple-and-black skin-hugging outfit notched another arrow. "That was the only time I'm going to ask," she told me as she pulled back the string on her compound bow.

X

The thick quilted fabric of my mask would obscure the sound, but I was holding my breath, back flat against the brick wall, as the lone ghoul wandered to the top of the escalators…

Ok, I can hear the screaming out there, wondering why the hell I'm switching scenes so abruptly. There I was, spinning a tale of thrilling heroics and chills, and just when the plot thickens and there's the possibility of a major throw down where our dashing main character and his trusty sidekick are falsely accused by a cape…instead, there he is, hiding from one single, solitary zombie when only seconds before in our story he was mowing them down like wheat before a scythe.

My reasoning is this…my damn story, I'll tell it the way I want to tell it. I'm an engineer, not a bard. Call it a cliffhanger, call it creative storytelling, call it 'the Shocker pissing us off.' I'm spinning this web…oh, damn it, now I made a Spider-Man pun. Someone shoot me. No, wait, that happens later on.

Anyway, Marie, me, Houston Street Station, zombie. I'm rock still, doing my best impersonation of a granite statue, watching this staggering form in the convex security mirror hanging on the wall. It moved with jerky steps, shoving one foot down before swinging its other leg around to join it. One arm seemed stuck in a bent position, clutching at its chest, while the other moved freely, batting around the air with each motion it made. I couldn't tell which way the damn thing was looking, and its steps took it perpendicular to the escalators. Slowly, it crossed the station entrance, taking its sweet time. It wasn't looking down here, but something drew it to this subway stop. Maybe this was on the guy's commute uptown every day, or he lived around here. I had noticed, when they weren't…agitated is the word Boomerang used. When they weren't agitated, the ghouls seemed to default to what had been their normal, everyday lives. They hung out around their apartments, their places of work, or where they died, whatever was "important" to them. The good news was, Lower Manhattan…people worked there. After 9/11, a lot of people left the area, forgoing it as a place to live. So, after hours and after the zombie apocalypse, this section of Manhattan was pretty clear. Now, Jersey on the other hand…the joke about 'Hell on Earth' was probably fact out in the dense suburbs. So I just had one zombie to deal with at the moment, and its was taking its time, like there wasn't a care in the world beyond ripping into someone's intestines. I had to bite back the urge to mumble "c'mon, c'mon." Any small noise would risk grabbing its attention…

I looked back over my shoulder. Marie was peeking out from behind the Metrocard machine. I carefully held out my hand, doing my best to convey a 'stay still and be quiet' aura. To my surprise, she nodded, and pulled back into the small alcove while I put my attention back onto the zombie.

Several seconds, minutes, a New York minute, whatever, it passed slowly to me. My body wasn't used to standing this still, especially in the frantic moments of the past few days. But, in the end, I'm a living human being, and it was a dumb corpse. It wandered off as quietly as it had shown up, just a small moan echoing down the stairs towards me. I counted to sixty, making damn sure it or any of its friends weren't going to come back, before sliding away from the wall. Moving as quickly as I could, as quietly as I could, I made my way to the Metrocard machines. Marie's blue eyes peeked out as me as I put a finger to my lips, and took her by the wrist. "Move," I told the Frenchwoman, "we're almost there."

Even taking pains to be quiet, I winced at every noise our feet made as our shoes slapped against the stone floor of Houston Street Station. For a born and bred New Yorker, being in an empty subway station…even late at night, and I'm talking 'past last call' late…you could find a homeless guy on a bench. Or a transit cop calmly walking his beat. Or a newspaper stand owner getting set for the morning rush hour. To me, Houston Street was a concrete tomb, and Marie and I were doing our best not to disturb the dead.

We made our way around a kiosk, towards the Second Avenue platform on the south side of the station. At the far end, near the front of the subway car parked on the rails, Rhino's face broke into a grin as we approached my friend and the group of survivors around him. His massive gray form creaked slightly as he stood up. "Herman," he said softly, "I'm glad you made it."

"Glad I made it too," I replied as I went to clasp his hand…

"You don't want to do that," my friend responded. I cocked my head quizzically at him. To answer me, he simply lifted one of his hands. The "skin" covering his fist was streaked with red, and a few gray flakes stood out in the long swaths.

I knew what it was without having to ask. Before I inquired with Rhino as to how he came about to have blood and bone all over his hands, I turned to the survivors. Two of them, a young man in a Nets cap and a older woman wearing a blouse stained with dirt (and worse) were sitting on one of the nearby benches, side-by-side. Two other survivors, a middle-aged couple we had picked up just outside a T-Mobile store, were having a quiet conversation near one of the pillars. They used soft words, as opposed to harsh whispers. Whispers carried further then muted discussion. That fact brought to you by Kraven the Hunter, who I had the…pleasure…of working with just before he offed himself. The guy might have preached "The Most Dangerous Game" as his Bible, but that didn't mean a schlub like me couldn't learn something about urban stealth once I shut up and listened. Decent guy, code of honor, and I'd have more respect for him if he hadn't shot himself in order to get the last word in with Spider-Man. I hated Spider-Man as much as the next guy, but not enough to commit suicide just to get one over on the wall-crawler.

The fifth member of the "I survived 'Night of the Living Dead LARP'" club came forward. "Found yourself another wayward citizen, Shocker," Father Mark Jacobson said as he hobbled towards Marie and myself. "Hello, child," he said, extending a hand towards Marie. "Mark Jacobson, at your service," he introduced himself with a quiet voice.

She hesitantly took his offered hand. "Marie Jaloux," the Frenchwoman replied. "Is…is this a rescue station?"

The good Father shook his head. "No, Marie. It's a way station on the way to one, however. We've just been waiting for you to arrive before we moved on."

"How's the leg, Father?" His left thigh was tied tightly with strips from a white t-shirt taken from a kiosk up the street. A few drops of blood were evident against the color-free cloth.

"I'll manage," Father Jacobson replied. "Thank the Lord it was just jagged metal and not jagged teeth."

The Lord, Yaweh, Allah, Vishnu, Reggie Jackson, whoever. "Father, could you take Marie and explain to her what's going on and where we're heading? We'll be moving out in a few minutes."

"Of course, Shocker. Come, Marie, I'll introduce you to everyone." She was a bit wide-eyed as Marie took the priest's arm. Jacobson led her over to the couple, and I watched the four of them begin to go through the motions of introduction.

"Alright, Aleksei," I quietly said once I was sure Marie was distracted, "what happened?"

Aleksei leaned close to me. "One of those things came up from the tracks. Sarah," he said, nodding towards the woman quietly sitting on the bench, "saw it and almost screamed. She made enough noise, though, two more of them showed up." He looked down at his hands, opening one up to show me the dark stained palm. "I got two of them, but the third managed to crawl up on the platform. I had to…" Rhino held his hands out and slowly moved them together. "He was too close to punch, and anything else would have been too loud. I tried to clean the gunk off, but…"

The thought of my friend squashing a zombie's head like a grape made me wince, especially as I (involuntarily) imagined the sound. "Any others show up," I asked once the shiver had finished running down my spine, "or was it just the three of them?"

"Just those three, Herman." Rhino glanced over at the tracks. The subway train had come to a stop at the platform and left about four feet of clearance at the southern end, the end we were going to use to move everyone back to TriBeCa. "I don't like that. They've never been in the subways before. They weren't transit guys, either, at least they weren't dressed like them."

"Great. That would be the last damn thing we need," I sighed. "The food was all up top. If they figured out that the food's all down here now, then…"

Rhino finished my thought. "…then this time should be our last time we stick our necks out of the warehouse, Herman. Unless we want to try hotwiring a big truck or something."

"That'll attract too much attention," I replied. "And I'd like to keep the number of ghouls pounding on our doors to the smallest amount possible." My mind worked for a few seconds before I continued. "Ok. There was a Walgreen's up the road. I'm gonna grab some stuff from there and then head back to the warehouse. If this is our last trip out, I want to make sure we're good on a couple of things in case they take their sweet time coming to get us."

Rhino, looking down at me, shook his head in disagreement. "I ain't a fan of waiting here much longer, Herman…"

I reached out and squeezed his stone shoulder. "You're not going to wait. I want you to take everyone and start walking. Get everyone back to the warehouse as quickly as you can, before more of those things start showing up in the subway." I watched my friend's face take on an argumentative look, and quickly cut him off to avoid a long discussion. "Hey, Aleksei, I'll be fine. We need more insulin and a couple of other things anyway, and I can get it quietly and quickly if I'm by myself. Smash and grab, no screwing around, I'll hotwire a car and get back to TriBeCa before you know it."

"Herman, you just said getting a truck…"

"A car, Aleksei. A small car, little noise, lots of speed, and I'll get in through the sewers." My hand was still on his shoulder as I looked at him through my mask. "We won't get a shot at this again. But we need to get these survivors back to the warehouse before too many of those things figure out we're using the subway as the Underground Railroad for the living."

I knew my friend still wanted to argue. During the past four days, anytime I had gone off solo, Rhino had worried and shown concern. Hell, it was reassuring to know he cared and didn't want me to kick the proverbial bucket. But right now, in case of cannibalistic humanoid underground dead, Rhino was the man to handle them. The third rail was still hot, and that meant any fights or struggles would be in close quarters so no one still living got hurt. That meant Rhino, pun intended, would have to lead that charge, since one vibration from me could risk a tunnel collapse. Plus, the big guy could survive a step or two on the third rail. I knew it…and he knew it. He just didn't have to like it.

"I don't like it," he said, reading my mind, "but if you think it's the right thing to do, Herman, I'll do it."

"My man." I slapped him good naturedly on his upper arm. "You want anything from the drug store? Hershey's bar or something?"

"Just get your ass back in one piece," Rhino requested. He stepped away, and made his way over to where Marie, Father Jacobson, and the married couple had been getting to know one another. "Hey, we're gonna head out," I heard him inform them. As he explained the situation, I moved away from them. Leaning against one of the iron girders supporting the ceiling, I reached up and unsnapped my mask. The stale air of the empty station felt wonderful on my skin as I pulled my mask off. Everything I saw, heard, breathed, smelled, and tasted was filtered through my mask and the dazzling array of electronics I managed to cram inside the quilted fabric. SHIELD databases, audio enhancers, night-vision, all wired into my outfit. Wonderful and incredible and really handy, but sometimes, I needed fresh, clean air. Down here in the subway station, the smell of the decaying, burning city was absent. The sweat on my skin evaporated as the cooler air touched my face. My hair was matted down and soaked. I hadn't had a shower in four days, and probably smelled pretty damn ripe. But that had been Boomerang's idea…ahead of myself, sorry. I'll come back to that point later in the tale.

My head was leaned back, against the steel pillar, as I lost myself in thought for a moment. I really didn't want to head back up, to be honest. By this point, any thoughts of being a hero or being a Boy Scout had drifted into the realm of involuntary action rationalized with a heavy dose of sarcasm. In a way, I was relieved that this would be the last time I (and Rhino) risked the streets of Manhattan. The risk vs. reward factor had gotten too skewed against us. Too many zombies, not enough citizens in need of rescue. And luck was going to turn against us at some point…

"Mr. Shocker?"

I opened my weary eyes. Next to me, Marie stood, hands held in front of her. She spoke in a low voice. "We're leaving now. You...are not coming with us?"

Sighing, I pushed away from the girder, stretching my arms behind me to loosen the tense muscles in my back. "No. There are still some things I need to get done while I'm here. Aleksei will see you back safe."

She smiled quietly at that statement. "He is so big, like an elephant! I know he will keep me safe, like you did." What she did next took me a bit by surprise, as she leaned forward and gently kissed me on my cheek. Cool lips felt refreshing against my grimy, sweat-soaked skin. And if any of you out there are imagining that I was blushing...well, I wouldn't have put up too much of an argument. "Thank you, my hero, for savings me from those horrible creatures," Marie said as she pulled back. "Be...careful and safe on the streets."

I replied with a nod, and a smile on my own. She turned and made her way to the end of the subway platform. Rhino was already standing on the track, and all I could make out was a gray fist gently helping the survivors down onto the rails. The good Father was second-to-last, as Maria assisted Rhino from the platform. Finally, Marie gently sat down, legs hanging over the side, and two hands took her by the waist, and with a lift, Rhino took her out of sight and on the way back to the warehouse in TriBeCa.

Game face. I pulled my mask back on, and activated the magnetic clasps with a thought. Thirty seconds. That was how much "head start" I'd give Rhino and the other five before heading back up to Houston Street proper, in case some ghoul got curious about a dapper-looking man in brown-and-yellow emerging from the subway steps and decided to see what the underground attraction was.

Now, I know some of you out there, probably the same guys who didn't care for my use of literary technique earlier, are a few seconds away from tearing my head off (verbally, not cannibalisticly) about using the New York Port Authority's tax-supported tunnels as a transit port. "It's dark! It's cramped! You'd be sitting ducks if a bunch of zombies decided to take the Seventh Avenue Line uptown!"

And my response would be...you're right.

Now, Rhino's a New York boy, much like myself. He may be from Eastern Europe, but the big guy picked up the Big Apple's tricks pretty damn quick. That includes figuring out the subway system. For years, us bad guys used the subway to get around without catching too much attention. Just showing up on the streets dressed in our gear was a sign for some superhero to show up and collar us, especially in Rhino's case, where his gear didn't come with a "removable" option.

There are so many warrens and tunnels under Manhattan...how else could a guy like the Mole Man could stay on the lam for so man years? Just carry a compass, keep track of whether you were moving uptown or downtown, and you could get anywhere on the island without attracting the attention of a guy like Daredevil or the boys in Code Blue.

So we have the means of travel, but what about the flesh eaters trying to get a piece of yours truly? Surely the subway system would attract some of their ilk, especially the bunch that seemed to enjoy leaping out of dark places, hands outstretched. Any sane person would avoid the subway unless they absolutely had to. For the first day or two, that was my train of thought. Keep to the open spaces, where my vibro-blasts won't take down walls and have enough room to spread out and put down as many zombies as they could catch. And avoid the tight, cramped, closed quarters, where one-on-one fights could quickly turn into seven-on-one fights.

It took the non-stop news cycle to change my way of thinking. 24 hours of the chaos and murder that was sweeping the globe. The official term was "epidemic," because, according to Dr. Reed Richards, the brains were looking at the situation from the point of view of a virus, a bug that brought the dead back to life. The things that got up, from hospital beds, from pools of blood on the street, and staggered out of the houses and apartments of America, they all had several things in common. One, they craved flesh. No matter what kind of heavy artillery was thrown their way, no matter how thick the door was between them and their snack, they never, ever, ever gave up. Blow three limbs off and they'll hop on their fourth. Lop a head off, and it'll sit on the ground, snapping its teeth at you. As Rhino pointed out, you needed a shot to the head, be it a bullet, a blast, or a blow, something to damage the brain and put the bastard back into the grave. Anything else, and they'll still come to get you.

Which led me to point two. They'll come to get you. They'll go to where the food is.

Notice how I've been doing my best to be stealthy and tactful this lovely fall evening? Not exactly my normal operating mode. These things...they're dumb, but they know when a human's around. Zombies can't work a car, or fire a gun, or work an elevator. But we can. And the second a zombie hears a car going down the street...or a voice over a bullhorn...they know there's a source of food nearby, and they'll let every other thing in a block now about it by moaning. I'm not a zoologist, but the term "predator pack" comes to mind. Remember Central Park? Right now, that place is the biggest rescue station on Manhattan. It's big, square, it's easily blocked off, and the Avengers and every other cape in New York City is there trying to get people to the camp, and from there, off the island. About 7,000 people there, last I heard.

And probably five times that many times zombies pushing at the barricades, trying to get inside. They know what waits for them, if somehow they force their way inside.

They go where the food is. By the Law of Inverses...they don't go where the food ISN'T.

Remember the reasons I listed above, about how sane people avoided the subway system? That meant that there wasn't any food down in the stations and tunnels. So, aside from a few ghouls acting on some spark of memory from when they breathed, the tunnels were pretty free of zombies. Which meant the small number we came across got easily dealt with before they could alert more of their friends.

With that in mind, Rhino and I were able to move across Manhattan without too much difficulty. More importantly, anyone we convinced to join our merry band of brave idiots...some of them freaked, and I can't blame them. But after a bit, being out of sight...and out of earshot...of the Manhattan horde reassured them. Having a seven-foot tall tank on point helped as well. I was surprised, the first time we had to go underground after a dust-up with Captain Marvel (this one was the black woman with energy based powers), at how well Rhino knew the tunnels. The tunnels were big enough that my friend could move about comfortably without getting penned in, and aside from hitting the occasional train during rush hour...well, the trains would usually hit HIM...he used them to great effect. Taught me a trick or two as well.

The subway got shut down on the first night by the New York Port Authority. The outbreak had started during the tail end of rush hour, when most people had either been home or close to home. In New York City, though, that still meant a lot of passengers on the subway or the PATH trains. After the massacre at Penn Station, and with the city trying to keep a lid on the panic, for the first time that I could remember, the New York City Subway system went off-line. Blizzards, hurricanes, blackouts, and even 9/11, there was always someone in the subway getting people to where they needed to go, even if it wasn't by train. The train operators and station personnel and transit cops were just as eager to get back to their loved ones, and aside from the usual union squawking, no one really complained too loudly. Down here in Lower Manhattan, after the panic of that first night, the system has been empty. The stations emptied so far, a couple of them, like Houston Street, didn't get locked up. Good news for myself and Aleksei...

Crap. It's been longer then thirty seconds. You know, one of the problems with being a bad guy is our tendency to monologue. Superheroes have it, too, but us bad guys, in the time it takes US to ramble, the good guy's broken free and ready to kick the snot out of us. When good guys ramble, it's to rub their superiority in our face. Unless you're Mysterio. I don't know how he pulls it off, but I've seen the guy give full-blown dramatic monologues in the middle of fighting Spider-Man.

No yelling or commotion from the tunnel that Rhino, Marie, the Reverend, and everyone else left on. I'll take that as a good sign. Suit integrity's complete. Gloves are charged. The Walgreen's I'm thinking of is three blocks away, and there should be...

They pounce on me as I turn the corner. One's hands explode away from my shoulder, while the other brushes against my chest before the contact plates go off. I shove the two of them away, knocking them to the ground, and raise a glove for a quick level-one to their skulls when movement up ahead catches my eye.

About seven zombies are stumbling down the escalators towards the heart of the station. In the middle of the pack, holding on to the rail to keep upright, one of them drags a broken leg behind it. Odds are it's the one I saw in the mirror earlier. Maybe it came back and heard something, or something fired in its slow-to-necrotize brain, or probably it's just the universe throwing dumb luck its way so the bastards could come rain on my parade.

Alright. Nine zombies total. I could just run past them, and they'd follow me like good little lemmings. But if anyone of them don't...the odds of them making it to the platform, jumping down onto the tracks, and managing enough speed to come up behind Aleksei and the survivors before they reach safety is ridiculously low.

Which is why my next action is to raise my fists and simultaneously fire a level-one blast into each zombie at my feet. I've been in the game long enough to know that when the long odds are against you, that's when they pay off. As they both slump motionless to the tile floor, I'm stepping forward. The seven remaining ghouls are spread out enough that I can take them down one at a time...

Two minutes later, I'm climbing back onto Houston Street. Nine dead zombies are laid out below me in the subway station, tiny trickles of dark blood from their ears and nose pooling on the floor. It's three blocks to the Walgreen's. There's a couple of ghouls staggering about the surface. One or two are heading towards the subway station, and when I arrive on the scene, they raise their arms and stagger towards me. After taking care of both of them, I start walking. I'm not in too much of a hurry, and I'm not making that much effort to remain stealthy this time out. Let the idiots see me walking. I'm not too keen on using myself as bait, but a ghoul following after me is one less ghoul stumbling down in the subway.


	10. Staring Down the Shaft of an Arrow

She was rock still, crouched on top of the car. Perfect poise, perfect balance, perfect form. Poetry in non-motion. The prop wash from the helicopter made her black hair flutter in the air. Any other time, I might turned on by the way she looks.

But she's in that position pointing an arrow at me. The drawstring is taut, motionless, her eyes locked on mine. "Shocker, don't make me shoot you. I'm not in the mood to waste arrows."

"Look, Hawkeye..." I began.

To clarify things, this young raven-haired girl was the second Hawkeye. The first one had vanished about two years ago. Most people claimed he was dead, a few even going so far as to take credit for it. Which meant he'll pop up in a few months, good as new, and whip some poor villain's butt. But for now, this girl had appeared after his disappearance, and picked up where he had left off. I hadn't had the misfortune of crossing paths with her until this evening. And with the world going to hell, it fell upon me, Herman Schultz, to be God's personal gag reel for the evening by running into an Avenger at the worst possible time.

"...this ain't what it looks like. They're not hostages, they're people Rhino and I just rescued!"  
"I wasn't born yesterday, Shocker. I don't have the time to drag you to a police station. Let them go, and I'll let you walk."

Let them...let them go WHERE? I don't know if Hawkeye had noticed, but there were still ten or fifteen zombies stumbling around. Was she going to just walk them someplace safe? And if so, where?

I wanted to argue with her. After all, I had been the idiot who put my life on the line to make this rescue. I didn't feel like I was looking for pride or recognition, but where was she a few minutes ago when Rhino and I plowed our way through the crowd? Where was she when Rhino was busting the joint open and cracking open heads to get the three people with us out of the store? Again, the Shocker does all the legwork and someone else comes along to screw it all up...

"They did rescue us!" The Latino gentleman had to yell to be heard from where he stood. "There were a whole bunch of these things attacking us, and the two of them got us out! If it wasn't for them, we'd be sitting ducks!"

The dark glasses Hawkeye wore helped to hide her expression. If she was mulling things over and, you know, listening to the civilian, I couldn't tell. After too many brief seconds, she responded. "They're still criminals, sir. Back away, and I'll make sure they don't hurt you."

Oh, for the love...

Sidebar. One of the things I couldn't freakin' stand about heroes is the concept of "bad guys can never do anything good." I'm not saying that rescuing a kitten out of a tree (Stilt-Man) or opening a fire hydrant for kids during a heat wave (Aqueduct) or buying ice cream for a bank you're hold hostage (that one's all me) makes you a Boy Scout. But sometimes...bad guys do good things just to do them. Not often. But we were kids once...or maybe we just like kittens.

Right now, Aleksei and I were standing outside a wide-open 7-11. We had no duffel bags of cash from the safe. We weren't carrying pallets of bottled water. And I didn't snag a Klondike from the freezer. Did Hawkeye really think we broke into the place and rescued a pierced counter jockey, a blonde, and a middle-aged Latino man as part of some grand diabolic scheme that happened to coincide with the dead coming back to life?  
Odds were? Yes. Yes, she did. Even though, right now, there's no one guarding the Lexus dealership, we had robbed a 7-11 to kidnap civilians willing to come along with us.

"Ok, everyone be cool," I said, putting my hands out to the side. "No one do anything stupid or rash, we can talk this out like adults."

The blonde stepped forward, standing beside me. "Ma'am, he's telling the truth! We were trapped in the store and a bunch of those creeps busted open the back door! If it wasn't for the Rhino ripping open the doors, we'd be dead!"

Again, couldn't make out if Hawkeye was processing this new information repeated for a second time. What I could make out was the crowd of zombies getting closer to the car she was crouched on. Part of me wanted to warn her. Part of me knew she wouldn't believe me. And the third part said "fine. Let her be lunch..."

"Sorry, ma'am, but these two men are known and wanted criminals. They're dangerous and will end up getting you hurt of killed."

Oh, screw this.

"Aleksei, when I say run, you take them and..."

The trash can sailed over my head mid-sentence. It arced in front of me, falling between myself and Hawkeye. I heard, over the helicopter, the twang of the bowstring as Hawkeye reflexively let her arrow fly. As the green-metal can bounced on the asphalt, I could see the purple arrow sticking out of the side. I also could see Hawkeye quickly pulling another arrow from her quiver, ready to restring and reshoot at us.

"MOVE!" The mass of footfalls behind me let me know what we going on without having to look. The group of four, three survivors and Rhino, were getting the hell out of Dodge. For once, civilian logic went the way of the villains...go with the people who saved your life instead of the other guy. The question that instantly went through my mind, watching Hawkeye set the arrow on her bowstring...was she going to shoot at me, the target right in front of her, or take a shot at the rapidly retreating Rhino?  
Well I do a better imitation of a pincushion then Aleksei. And behind her, maybe fifteen feet away, the two closest zombies were definitely locked on to her, slavering at the thought of tender flesh.

Multi-tasking's an underrated skill among the criminal community. Everyone thinks in a linear fashion. You do A, then you do B, then you do C. I'm cleverer then that...stop snickering. When you work with redundant wiring and fail-safe alarm systems, you're dealing with the potential for cascading failures when one link in the chain breaks. So, with that engineering genius I mentioned earlier, I think big picture. Do A and B at the same time, THEN do C.

So, as she pulled back the bowstring on her weapon, I raised my gloves and put a level-three vibro-blast into the side of the car she was standing on.

The old Hawkeye would have flipped into the air, managed to set the arrow on the string, and shot me in the thigh before landing so gracefully that the Latverian judge would have given him about a 9.0. This girl wasn't that Hawkeye. As the car moved underneath her, she lost her balance. Her hands, which had been pulling back the drawstring, slipped as she tried to steady herself, and she fell forward. The arrow (I'll give her credit, she had "reloaded" pretty quick) fell off the string, clattering to the street, soon followed by the young archer. The asphalt knocked the wind out of her, and her bow fell out of her hand, landing just out of her reach.

As for the aforementioned car? A level three wasn't going to send it airborne, but it damn sure slid that son-of-a-bitch sideways. Right into the advancing crowd of undead.

Hey, to me, five undead are a crowd...and company, and too close for comfort, and enough...

Christ. Note to self, leave the stupid quips to Spider-Man. One heroic rescue attempt and I'm already making bad jokes.

Anyway, car, zombies, metal, flesh, vibro-blast, knocked down like bowling pins, you get the picture. One of them fell down as the back bumper him. The rear tire slid over his leg with a satisfying crunch, pinning him to the ground. The front end barely missed a zombie on the left, sliding just past its hip before coming to a stop. What had once been a young girl with pig-tails hadn't even noticed two tons of Detroit steel and glass coming towards it, never flinched or tried to move the hell out of the way. It was locked on a direct course towards Hawkeye, who was now reaching out for her dropped bow...

The whine of my vibro-smasher stayed her hand. "Don't try it, Hawkeye," I growled. Now the shoe was on the other foot...and it felt damn good. Bad guys, we live for moments like this; getting the drop or the advantage on a cape. She was glaring up at me, top lip pulled back in a snarl, and it just made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. "Stay down, and don't even think about going for that bow."  
The zombie was getting closer. It managed to let out a high-pitched moan, and the way Hawkeye turned her head, I knew she heard it. Good. Keep her attention split. She turned back to me, and I knew she was thinking about how to grab her bow, shoot it, and then shoot me. If it was only that thing she was going to put an arrow in, I would have let her play Robin Hood until Maid Marion came home. But...

"What's your angle, Shocker? Going to hold them hostage? Maybe use them as bait or something?"

My shoulders slumped as I sighed. "Hawkeye," I said, keeping both gloves pointed at her, "didn't you hear a damn word myself, Rhino, or, how about, those civilians said? We rescued them. Rescued. Romeo Echo Sierra Charlie Umbrella Echo Delta'd."

"You never were an altruist, Shocker." Hawkeye's finger crept towards the bow. Damn it, I'm pointing my vibro-smashers at her, both of them. Does she think she's that fast?

"Maybe I'm donating my time to charity tonight," I shot back. The zombie was closer now, and it really was time for me to go. If I got out of here now, she'd have plenty of time to turn around the get the guy behind her and hopefully I can get out of bowshot before she has to turn and deal with me. Carefully, I took a step backwards, away from Hawkeye. "Alright, I'm just gonna walk away, Hawkeye, no harm, no foul, ok?" Another step, my gloves still pointed at her head as she lay on the street.

She started to talk. "Can't let you leave, Sho..."

"Oh, would you just shut it and listen!" My vibro-smashers came upwards, and I ripped off a level two. The zombie's arm had just started to come up when my blast sent her pigtails blowing in the breeze and her body tumbling backwards. Even as her form was falling back to the street, I aimed my hands back at...

She was crouched, bow in hand, arrow nocked, pointing at my chest as I brought my gloves to bear on her. Damn, she was fast. To her credit, she didn't say a word, but kept her eyes on me, her arrow drawn back and aimed.

I don't know how long we stared at each other, amidst shattered windows, wrecked cars, and the sounds of the living dead, but I was the one who broke the silence between us. "I just saved your life, Hawkeye, and I'm cashing it in now. I'm walking away. I'm going to hole up in my hideout, and do my best to avoid what's probably the end of the world." I took two, three steps backwards, away from her, a very quick glance over my shoulder letting me see that there wasn't a hungry corpse behind me.

"Shocker..."

"No. No, don't say a damn word. Just get the hell off the streets before you become a snack." A few more steps took me out of her line of sight, and then my ass pounded pavement back the way I came, up Degrosses Street. It took me a second to readjust to the darkness, after being in the harsh glare of the news helicopter, but the way was just as clear as we arrived. Part of me waiting for an arrow to hit me, either a net arrow, an arrow to knock me unconscious, or something, but by the time I got to the West Side Highway, having passed by four or five zombies, it was obvious she wasn't going to come after me.

Which was good, because I needed to get back to the warehouse. After the events of the previous half-hour...

...I really needed to take a leak.

X

"Woohoo! Mate, that was awesome!" Boomerang slammed the door behind me, holding two cold bottles in his hand. "You made Hawkeye look like a namby, Herman! Nice job!"

"Hold that thought," I managed to say between gritted teeth. I bolted immediately for the bathroom, managing to get my vibro-smashers off along the way. I dropped them on the workbench before almost diving into the bathroom. I'll spare you the gory details, but they're best summed by the following word.

"."

I buckled and re-magnetized myself back up, and after washing my hands (it's important to keep one's vibro-smashers germ-free), I stepped back into the warehouse. I breathed deep after removing my mask. To me, there's something about...the way an industrial area smells. It could be a workshop, or a warehouse, or a truck stop. Something about sawdust, grease, and diesel fuel, I can't explain it.

"How's my nose," I asked, tilting my head up a bit so Fred could get a good look as he approached.

"Don't see any blood. Suit did its' job tonight?"

"Like a charm if I don't got a nosebleed. Doesn't take a big blast to put one of those things on the ground, anyway. It's more accuracy and range then power."

Boomerang handed me one of the bottles. Screw breaking the seal, I think as I chug a good half of the bottle. Heroics are thirsty work. "Mate, I still think you're a crazy son of a gun, but I'll admit, what you did to Hawkeye..."  
I lowered the bottle from my lips once I realized what Boomerang had said. "Wait...how did you know...you saw it?"

"Me and the rest of America." Across from my workshop area, the flatscreen TV was still showing ABC 7, but this was the national feed, with Charles Gibson speaking. The clerk was already sitting on the couch, his back to me, focused on the images. I could feel my eyes widen as I comprehended what was being shown on the screen...

"RHINO AND SHOCKER IN THRILLING RESCUE."

"You're kidding me," I remembered murmuring. I mean, yeah, I was there, it was a rescue, and it was quite thrilling. But I walked closer to the TV, beer still gripped in my hand, watching an ariel view of Rhino smashing one of the 7-11's doors over the head of a zombie. And then...the scene cut to me, with Hawkeye on the ground, blasting the ghoul behind her in the face.

"...incredible footage, shot about fifteen minutes ago, by a traffic copter in Lower Manhattan," the smooth, professional tones of the longtime ABC anchor reported. "Villains the Shocker and the Rhino engaging in an act of heroism as they rescued civilians from a trapped convenience store, as well as the Shocker keeping the young archer Hawkeye out of harm's way with a daring energy blast..."  
"Vibro-blast," I whispered.

"Mate, they just used the word 'Shocker' and 'heroism' in the same sentence." Boomerang clapped me on the back of the neck, laughing. "Congratulations, hero." He clinked my bottle with his, and took a pull of the (to him) watered down American beer.

Hero?  
Wow. That actually felt pretty good.

Fred was right. Those words (and 'Rhino,' where credit's due) never go together. Hearing it for the first time...

"I guess they are walking corpses," Fred said. "While you were gone, the CDC and SHIELD made it official. We got dead people, Herman. The dead are returning to life and attacking the living." He finished off his beer, eyes locked on mine. "We're in a world of trouble."

"Yeah, man. And they're..." I took a swig of my beer. "...relentless is the word. They just don't stop coming, Fred. This one...how much of it made it on TV?"

"All of it, mate, from when you two showed up to when you ran away," he needled me. "Either ABC told the government to take a flying leap, or someone was asleep on the switch." My friend studied me for a second. "Let me guess, the girl who wouldn't stay down?"

"Fred, she didn't have elbows left when I finished with her. I blasted her three times, and I'm talking dead-on shots, not glancing ones, until Aleksei reminded me to go for the head. And you saw the car trick, right?"  
"Now THAT was a piece of beauty, Herman, two birds, one stone."

"Yeah, well...the zombie I missed with the car? Didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Even Luke Cage would have stepped to one side..." I finished the last of the beer and handed the empty bottle back to Fred. "And going to the back of the store to break in...I don't know. Maybe, when it comes to finding food, they're geniuses."

"Reassuring thought, mate." Fred took my empty to the trash as I headed over to the kitchen. Rhino was standing nearby, arms crossed, and nodded as I approached.

"Any problems making it back, Herman?"

"None. Clear and easy once Hawkeye saw the light."  
"Mr. Shocker, thank you." The blonde had been leaning against the counter after drying off her face, and extended a hand towards me. "I owe you my life."

"Um...thanks," I said. It took me a few more seconds before I responded with a firm, but dumbfounded handshake. "Don't forget Aleksei."

"I haven't," she said.

"Yes...thank you, sir." The Latino gentleman put his hand out, and the shock was less evident the second time around as I pumped twice and let go. "If it wasn't for you, we would have been trapped by the zombies who broke in. We are in your debt."

"...think nothing of it," I got out. "I couldn't...we couldn't," I corrected myself with a nod towards Aleksei, "just sit by and do nothing. We had to help."  
Before, blowing from the warehouse like a bat out of hell, I didn't have time to think about why. Now, with the threat passed and everyone safe...I didn't even ask myself 'why.' Just seeing the look of relief on the faces of the blonde and the Latino man, that was reason enough. Knowing that they would have been toast without our help...it wasn't 100% heroic and altruistic, maybe. But I felt good. The world was going to hell, and I did something good. Fantastic.

"And now, sir...I must ask you, am I free to leave?"

I remember blinking at his question. "Um...leave? Are...are you sure you want to do that, Mr..."

"Robert Prosario," he said. "And yes, I have to leave. I appreciate you saving my life, but I can't stay here, Mr. Shocker." He motioned towards the metal door leading outside. "I was on my way home from work with Ashley..." The blonde waved. "...when we got hit by the other car. We were going to meet my family and get ready to leave the island, like when the Hulk came through last summer and they evacuated Manhattan."

I looked over at Ashley. "Are you related?"

"Oh, no, no, he's just my co-worker. My apartment's up past 92nd Street and I didn't want to try to get back there alone," she replied. "But...I'm fine with staying here, if that's what you're going to do, Mr. Shocker."

"I was planning on it," I found myself. "I mean...we got food, water, and the walls are pretty sturdy. Beats being out on the streets right now by a long shot."

"Yeah, it's your standard hideout," Rhino chimed in, "great for when you need to lie low and hide out for a while."

"I'm sure it would be, Mr. Shocker," Robert answered, "but I cannot sit here while my family is waiting for me. The last time I talked to them was before I left work, and that was a few hours ago. I don't want them to worry, or worse, go out looking for me when, as you said, the streets aren't safe."

That was a good point in his favor. Normally, I wouldn't give a damn if this guy wanted to go stick his neck out. As long as my neck wasn't the one on the line, most everyone else could fish or cut bait for all I cared. He knew the risks, and if Robert wanted to become a meal for some shuffling zombie, I normally wouldn't have cared all that much. But...didn't Aleksei and I just do the same damn thing, going out onto the dangerous streets to make sure people were safe? And that was for total strangers, not for family.

"You know it's a death wish, right, Robert?"

"Herman, that's what Fred said to you earlier tonight, but you went out, anyway." Aleksei had gotten a bottle of water while we had been talking, the small plastic container almost lost within his massive fist. "If he wants to go do it, let him, he knows the score."  
"I know, Mr. Rhino...I know. But I can't sit here and let my family possible die waiting for me. Thank you for everything, but I must go." Robert started to push past me...

I grabbed his wrist. "You can't get in touch with them? You tried?"

"I just tried a few minutes ago." I let go of his forearm as he continued to speak, holding up a small Blackberry. "I kept getting a recorded message, from the phone company, about all the lines being tied up."

I didn't want to do what I was about to do. I really didn't. Yeah, I enjoyed the positive feelings and general sense of well-being my earlier actions had brought me...but let's face it, dumb luck had a strong supporting role in the whole 7-11 rescue. And I'm an engineer. I don't believe in luck. I deal in numbers and absolutes. Fact, the undead were walking around Manhattan, as well as the rest of the world. Fact, nothing at the moment seemed to stop them, or even slow them down, other than a shot to the head. Fact, they saw humans as a source of food. Fact, they seemed to keep going after their food, no matter what. Fact, right now, we were in a secure, easily fortified location away from the busier parts of Manhattan. Fact, we were safe.

Fact, Herman Schultz is about to pull another dumb move.

"Where's your place?"

"Up on Versey Street," the Latino answered.

"Come on." I motioned for Robert to follow me over to my workbench. Once there, I scrounged for a couple of seconds, moving bolts and tools out of the way to find what I was looking for. "Write...write your family a note, saying you're ok and that I'm a friend who's coming to rescue them." Robert, even though he took the pen and paper from the workbench, stared at me in confusion. "Look, if I show up at your place, your family's gonna think I'm there to case the joint or something. You give me...a letter of introduction, something that'll tell them I'm cool and not going to hurt them."  
"I..."

I cut Robert off. "Come on, we don't got time, just write something." I grabbed my vibro-smashers from the workbench, and stepped away. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fred shaking his head as I initialized my gloves. Full charge. Good.  
I didn't mention it before, so I might as well put it in here now. I have a charger for my gloves on my workbench, and in a pinch, I can plug directly into a wall outlet. But, in case I'm cut off from my hideout for a long period of time, my gloves have their own built-in recharging mechanism. I based it off the concept of the self-winding watch that uses the wearer's momentum from swinging and moving their arms to keep ticking. It's not much, and if I go completely dry in the field, we'd be talking hours to charge back up to full blast capability. But it's what lets me throw around level one and level two blasts without too much worry.

"A few minutes of good press, you think you're an Avenger," Boomerang said sadly. "Come on, Herman, once is luck, twice is foolish."

"Fred, I'd agree with you under most any other circumstance." My vibro-smashers hummed slightly as I turned to face him. "Look, I risked my butt to save three people, and after doing that, one of them wants to go back out there anyway. Sorry, not after all of that. I'm batting a thousand for once."

"Herman, let the guy go if he's that dumb. Two out of three ain't bad."

I remember staring directly at Boomerang as he spoke those words. Yeah. Yeah, that's a good success rate. Why not take it? Why not just let the guy go? The clerk was alive, and the blonde, Ashley, she was alive. Robert wanted to go home to his wife and family. Let him. Maybe he'd make it back...if Rhino and I could as two conspicuous bad guys...

Two out of three.

I knew what I was doing...and with those words, I finally figured out why I was doing it.

"No way, Fred. I ain't gonna live with 66.6 tonight."

My friend linked at me for a couple of seconds, before throwing up his hands and sighing loudly. "Christ...alright, mate, if you're going to be stupid, let's do stupid right." Robert was still writing his note, scribbling as quickly as he could, so I nodded to Fred to go on. "You need someone to stay home and guard the fort. I'll do that for you. Make sure the civvies don't accidentally trip a trap or open a door and let one of those things inside."

I couldn't help but smirk. "And you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart, right?"

"I'm doing it because the only thing that I want to gobble me down is a Playmate, Herman, not a walking corpse. The guy said the phone lines were all tangled up. You try your suit's comms yet?"

"Haven't had a need to...give me a second. Yo, Aleksei!" Across the warehouse, Aleksei was still taking to the blonde girl, Ashley. He looked up as he heard me yell his name. "Make sure your communication system is on, gonna test it out." He shot me a thumbs up as I grabbed my mask from the workbench. I pushed the panel to activate the radio and lifted the mask to my lips. "You hear me ok?"

"Loud and clear," his voice came back through the mask's ears.

I nodded, and spoke one more time. "I'm heading out again. You don't have to come with me, but..."

"Good," he interrupted me. "Are you going to that guy's family's apartment up on Versey Street? Because if you do, I got someone I want to stop by and check in on in Soho afterwards."  
"Christ, we're getting ourselves a regular entourage," Boomerang groused somewhat good-naturedly.

Soho was a bit of a hike...but there was no logical way to argue that fact based on what I was setting out to do. "Ok, Aleksei, you and me. We do this cool, and we keep watching our butts, just like last time. We can't get cocky. Got it?"

"Got it," my friend replied. "I'll meet you by the door when you're ready, Herman."

I put my mask back on, re-magnetizing the connection with a touch. "Alright, comms work. You still got your comms in your suit, Fred?"

"Yeah, but you still got that headset around, right? I'd prefer to use that."

"Sure, I got it over here." It was in a box under my workbench, a prototype unit I had worked on a few years ago. Cell phone and PDA technology made communication hardware and software to small, it was easy to thread and wire a small walkie-talkie into someone's uniform upon request. I never threw out the headset though, but kept it tucked away in case I needed it, or the parts, again. I never throw anything away if I can help it. Hell, I have a circuit junction from my very first radio-controlled car running tertiary power functions in one of my vibro-smashers. I remember that car...

I bought it with allowance money from mowing lawns all spring so I'd have it during the summer. When it shorted out one afternoon after flipping into a puddle, my friends thought it was ruined for good. Not me. I brought it home, dried it out using my mother's hair dryer, cracked it open on my father's workbench, and fixed it. Don't ask me how, because I couldn't tell you, but staring at circuit boards and gears, it didn't take me long to figure out what went where, which circuits needed soldered onto which board, which wires didn't cross, and just how much more power I could squeeze from a brand new battery. Once it was all put back together, the car ran just as well as it did before it got soaked...and maybe a little bit better.

When I was putting together my first real pair of vibro-smashers after breaking out of prison, I remembered cracking open that RC car one more time, and cannibalizing the hell out of it. The parts were sub-par, but they did the job until I acquired real gear. I ripped them all out and installed the new components, but along the way, I had forgotten the circuit junction, which was buried deep in my vibro-smashers, acting as a backup system to a backup system. By the time I had remember, it would have been too much hassle to rip them open and replace it. Over the years, no matter how many times I've upgraded, tweaked, repaired, or replaced my vibro-smashers, that circuit junction kept slipping under the radar, and eventually, it evolved into a bit of a good luck charm.

I mentioned all this to the Enchantress during a more formal night at the Bar With No Name once, and she smiled and told me in that silky voice of hers, "A piece of a toy from your childhood? It sounds like you have a fetish there, Herman."

Yeah, these days, I ain't the only one...

"Here," I said, untangling a few wires before handing it over to Fred. "Channel 4. Anything bad happens, you let us know right away, got it?" Boomerang nodded, take the headset and clicking it on to test it.

"Mr. Shocker?" Robert handed me a folded slip of paper. "I told them you rescued me and that it would have been on television. Hopefully, that'll be enough."

I slid the note into my belt. "The three of us have a communication system set up, Robert. I'll let you know your family is safe the minute we get up to Versey Street. Alright?"

"Yes..." He reached out and took my gloved hand. Even though the quilted fabric I felt his strong, sincere grip. "Bless you, Mr. Shocker, for doing this. Please...bring my family back safe."

Alright. Versey Street is more a hike then the 7-11 was...and then we gotta go to Soho. Versey's closer in any case, and the sooner I can let Robert know the fate of his family...alright. It's doable. Dicey. Definitely stupid. But doable, if Rhino and I keep our heads and don't get cocky.

Aleksei was waiting for me at the warehouse door, with Ashley beside him, ready to set the lock one we were both outside. He took a deep breath as I approached, and actually smiled at me. "Once more into the breach, huh?"

I stopped in my tracks. Under my mask, I stared in wonder at the big guy. "Since when did you know Shakespeare, Aleksei?"

"I don't," he said in a low rumble. "That was Shakespeare?" He opened the door for me, and the two of us stepped back out into Manhattan. "I've just heard that damn quote so many times, it seemed like the right thing to say."

Over the sound of sirens and occasional gunfire, I shrugged at him. "Works for me. Come on, we got a walk ahead of us."


	11. First Night, Last Round, Wake Up Call

"Father!"

Even before the garage door was halfway open, Ernesto was out of the truck and running for his father. Robert, tears running down his face, embraced his teenage son as the door rumbled towards the ceiling. "Oh, Father, I'm sorry, I should have saved them..."

"Shhh. There is nothing you could have done. You're alive...that is blessing enough." He patted his son, trying to sooth him. "I am glad you are alive, my son."

Rhino carefully climbed down from the back of the red pick-up truck as the door opened. "Alright, move it inside, Peter, and let's get this place sealed back up." The truck moved forward slowly, the driver taking great care in bringing the vehicle inside. As soon as the tailgate had passed the threshold, I hit the "close" button, and the metal door started to lower on its guiderails. Relieved to be back behind sturdy doors, I turned to sneak a final peek at Manhattan before we buttoned back up, taking my mask off so I could see it with my own eyes.

The city still shined bright, a thousand lights in a hundred high-rises. But tonight, the city burned as well. We had passed two burning buildings and several cars that were alight in our recent journey, along with a few storefronts where broken glass and dropped merchandise littered the sidewalk. Sirens weren't as evident as they had been earlier that night, but the sound of automatic gunfire echoed through the stone canyons, and if I strained my ears, the sound of helicopters was evident. The street lights aligning the West Side Highway were the last thing I saw before the door lowered in front of me. As soon as it finished closing, I stepped back to help Rhino unload the back of the truck. It belonged to a Romanian couple, a Ford F-150 from the last 1990's that they used for catering. Peter was the driver, Anna was in the shotgun seat, and the back of the truck, aside from hauling Rhino during our trip back from Soho, held several boxes and bags from their bakery.

It turned out that Peter and Anne were the people who had baked me my birthday cake earlier that day. Apparently, Aleksei was a long time customer of the place, and almost family to the couple from Romania. When we had shown up to the bakery with Ernesto in tow, the two of them had been packing up to head out of town, upstate to a small town where one of their cousins lived. Rhino convinced them otherwise. I couldn't follow the conversation, as Romanian is one of the hundreds of languages I have no clue how to speak. Next thing I knew, though, I was standing lookout on the streets of Soho, blasting a few zombies, as Rhino, Peter, and Anne loaded damn near everything edible or could-be-cooked-to-be-edible into the back of the truck. Rhino sat in the back...and I'll say this, those Ford commercials where the truck holds steel girders and scrap metal? After watching Rhino sit down without too much fuss from the shocks, I'm a believer. The rest of us sat up front for the trip from Soho to TriBeCa.

The roads were getting worse. There were more pile-ups on the highways, along with ambulances racing about and military caravans, several Humvees packed with freshly activated National Guardsmen. I guess that seeing a known supervillain chilling in the back of a red pick-up truck, speeding across Lower Manhattan, didn't rank too highly on the "imminent crisis" scale. Though I did find it a little off putting when Aleksei waved to one of the caravans and some of the soldiers waved back. Nothing like a zombie apocalypse to put aside criminal/law-abider conflict.

I took my mask and vibro-smashers off, gulping in the relatively fresh air. As Robert and Ernesto were still embracing each other tightly, Ashley made her way over to where I was standing. "Mr. Shocker, I'm glad you're back ok," she said to me.

The gratitude was still a bit unnerving to me. Eying her for a second, I finally put on a weary smile. "Thanks. Everything ok here so far?"

"As well as it could be." Rhino and Peter had lowered the tailgate of the truck, and under Anne's direction were starting to unload the boxes of baked goods and ingredients. "What's all that," Ashley asked me.

"Apparently, we don't have to eat all the Spam I have saved up from the Hulk's rampage last summer," I managed to joke to the blonde. "Aleksei's friends run a bakery down in Soho, and they insisted..." My words trailed off for a second. "Um...er...I was just the lookout." Lord, how many times had I said that to a judge or a lawyer? "All I know is, when a Romanian woman points at you and says 'grab the flour,' you grab the flour."

Ashley giggled at my comment, maybe the first smile of humor I'd seen from her all evening. "I can imagine. I used to date a Polish guy, and his grandmother..."

"What we said was, if we're going to be cooped up in a warehouse somewhere hiding from the undead, at least we're going to eat well!" Aleksei dropped a large cooking pot on the kitchen counter. "I mean, no offense Herman, cheese, crackers, spam, beer, and water gets a little boring after a day."

"You got me there, man. And I ain't gonna complain if someone else wants to cook." I looked around the warehouse, and I realized...something was missing. Or someone. Someones. "Where's Boomerang and...and...the clerk guy?"

"Bobby's taking a nap," Ashley said. "He was up watching TV with Mr. Myers all night long, and passed out on the couch about an hour ago. Mr. Myers is up on the roof. He went up when he heard you guys were coming up the road."

"Alright. And if you're calling him Mr. Myers...you can call me Herman. And that's Aleksei," I said, nodding to where Rhino was closing the tailgate of the truck with one hand and holding a large box on his shoulder with the other. She nodded, and wandered off into the kitchen, where Anne had started to take over. Immediately, stereotypes were engaged, as I heard her booming voice begin to direct Ashley as to what to unpack from the various containers and boxes. I would have chuckled again if I didn't have a direct view of Robert and Ernesto comforting each other in their grief.

X

We had arrived at the Prosario's too late.

The security door to their building was hanging off its hinges, glass covering the inside of the lobby. It crunched under Rhino's feet as he led the way into the building. Our trip up from TriBeCa had been ghoul-free, and now I was wondering if it was because they had all descended upon this place.

"Aw, damn, Herman. This place is a slaughterhouse," Rhino rumbled softly. Beyond the lobby, the hallway of the first floor had been the scene of a massacre. Nearly every apartment door had been forced open. Pools and streaks of blood covered almost every surface. And as I stepped around my friend, I could see several discarded limbs scattered across the floor. Teeth marks were apparent in the wrist and hand closest to our feet, and the ring finger was missing as well. "I don't see any ghouls..." Aleksei began.

"Shhh. Listen." I was speaking quietly, damn careful not to pique the curiosity of any of those things possibly lurking nearby. It took a few seconds, but from the floor above us, we could hear the sounds of shuffling feet. A low moan greeted our silence, along with several soft thumping sounds. "I think they're all upstairs."

"You think someone's alive up there?"

I shook my head under my mask. "They'd sound a lot more agitated if there was, I think. Come on, we're wasting time." I took the lead now, walking down the hallway, my large companion following. The Prosario's apartment, luckily for us, was on the first floor, second door on the left. The door was wide open, a broken security chain hanging from the doorjamb. The wet bloodstain soaking into the foyer's carpet didn't inspire much hope either. But, we were here for a reason, and we went inside anyway. Rhino took up the foyer, careful not to step in the blood, and kept watch as I scanned the apartment. Three-bedroom, not too bad for this part of Manhattan. Aside from the sticky red pool, the only sign of a disturbance was a lamp that had been knocked from an end table. The light bulb was still illuminated...and it helped me spot a splattered blood trail, snaking its ways from the bloodstain in the foyer through a nearby doorway. As I got closer to the doorway, I could hear snarling, and what sounded like nails being dragged across wood. I raised my hands, ready to defend myself if needed, and stepped into the bedroom.

The trail of blood ended in the brightly lit bedroom, at the feet of a young female zombie, not even ten years old, who was trying desperately to claw her way through a closet door. Her fingernails dug into the wood, and she left a trail of skin down the wooden door with every clawing motion, snarling and growling as she pressed her head against the door, which shook violently under her efforts. Next to her, an older female gently thumped her arm against the door, snarling only slightly, almost lazy in her actions to get whoever was behind the door. It had to be a someone. The only time these things got really agitated was when living dinner was around.

Neither of them noticed me as I walked up behind them. In such close quarters, I didn't want to risk shattering the door and driving splinters into anyone who was alive inside. Not even waiting for them to acknowledge my presence, I pulled back and landed a jab directly in the back of the active one's head. Unlike the light tap I gave the zombie outside the 7-11 earlier, this one had my entire body behind it, like I was fighting Spider-Man. I felt my vibro-smasher activate as it impacted her skull. By itself, the punch wouldn't have been anything too special. With my vibro-smasher going off at level one, the zombie smacked against the closet door, silent for a second, before sliding down the surface onto the floor. I did the same thing to the second zombie, smashing its' nose in the process. As it was falling, I quickly tapped on the closet door. "Hey," I said softly, "whoever's in there. I'm a friend. Robert sent me to rescue you."

After a few moments, I heard some rustling, and the door slowly opened. A teenage boy peeked out at me, eyes wide with fear and surprise. "My father sent you? He's alive?" he managed to choke out.

"Yeah, I have a note..." That was all I got out before the door flung open, and the teen ran out. His arms flung wide open, like he was trying to hug me.

"Oh, thank God! I was thought Papa was dead!"

I managed to side step him a bit. Him hugging me would have set off my contact plates and probably violate the trust that had instantly formed. "Yeah, no time for that, kid. We gotta go, those things are crawling all over the top floor. We'll get you back to your dad as soon as we can. Just follow me and be quiet, alright?" The teen nodded. "Alright, good. Where's the rest of your family? Are they hiding too?"

Clear eyes shining with fresh tears looked down at the two corpses on the floor...

Oh, nice job, Herman. You killed the kid's mother and sister...well, no, they weren't his mother and sister anymore. But seeing their zombie corpses couldn't have helped the teen's state of mind too much. I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped he managed to suck it up and deal, because...I was doing this out of some sense of altruism, but I was hoping to avoid hysterical, weeping, grieving civilians as best I could. To his credit, the teen stepped over their corpses without fuss, and was right behind me as I moved back out into the living room, careful to avoid stepping in the ribbons of blood that wove across the carpet.

As we approached the front door, I saw Rhino's head turn to the right, towards the lobby. "We got one," he hissed as me and the teen closed on him. "Just wandered in off the street."

I glanced back at the teen behind me before responding. "Can you take care of him so we can get the hell out of here, Aleksei?"

"Sure." He moved out of the doorway, disappearing from sight. Almost immediately, the two of us still in the apartment heard a low moan coming from the hallway. Turning around, I whispered to the teen. "Give him a minute to clear the way."

The teen nodded, but he was trembling with fear. "Is one...one of those things out there?"

"Yeah," I said, trying to be reassuring. "Rhino'll get rid of it and we can get out of here, but... trust me, you don't need to see..."

I got cut off by a loud roar...and then, something flew past the door to the apartment, causing both the teen and myself to snap to attention, heads whipping around. I caught a glimpse of white and red tennis shoes passing before my eyes. A second later, a series of loud bumps came from the doorway, as whatever it was landed and bounced along the hardwood floor. A small squeaking sound closed the cacophony of noise as whatever it was (ok, it was a corpse, but I had a scared kid beside me. Positive thoughts, positive thoughts, keep thinking unrealistic positive thoughts...) slid along the surface before coming to a halt. "Move it," Rhino rumbled from the lobby. I went out first, stepping to my left so the kid wouldn't see the formerly-flying zombie with a bashed in face as he left his home...

All night long, I'd been hearing these things moan, the only sound they made other than a growl or a snarl. At first, it was a solitary cry from the zombies outside the Bar With No Name. Then, outside the 7-11, it was a bunch of them, but I couldn't quite make out the particulars over whirring of the traffic helicopter just overhead. In the confined space of the empty apartment building, the sound echoed off the walls, through the hallways, down the stairs, and to our ears. It was one, at first, starting with what sounded like a deep breath, followed by a climbing, keenly pitched cry. But that was all I heard before another one soon joined in, lower in pitch...but more urgent in tone. They mixed and built on one another.

So, you could imagine that I wasn't too enthused when the third ghoul chimed in with their version.

I lost count of how many more joined in over the next few seconds.

Any attempt to describe the sound they make...it falls short. The sound...look, I was never one for too much hyperbole, but it felt like someone was trying to strike a match on my soul, the way the sounds blended into each other. It was a horrible song, made by horrible creatures. It was a hunting cry, a call that said "here, humans here, blood here, flesh here. Flush them out of the bushes, of their cars, of their homes." But it was worse than that. Underlying their moans, just below the surface...need. That's the only way I can even come close to quantifying it. A cry of need, of want. It didn't have any joy in it, any happiness. It was like, as they advanced on you, bloody hands clawing at you, they were saying, "we need to do this. We have no choice. The engine that's driving us demands that we rip you apart and wolf you down. "

The kid froze, and I damn well didn't blame him, because it stopped me in my tracks for a second. That little "flight-or-fight" moment I had earlier in the evening was starting to rear its ugly head again, and before the battle lines were even drawn, "flight" was the clear winner. But this kid just lost his mom and sister (thanks to me, and that couldn't have helped matters any) and now the hordes of Hell were abo...

"Kid, move."

Leave it to Aleksei to cut through all the mental red tape and provided the metaphorical boot to the behind. He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and manhandled him through the lobby, dragging him by his upper arm. Right behind the two of them followed yours truly. My friend's feet crunched over the broken glass, but I barely heard it over the noises from behind.

The street was clear as the three of us made it back out onto Versey Street. The street itself was ghoul-free, I concluded after taking a quick look around. "Alright, Rhino. SoHo next, then back to the ranch."

"Alright." Rhino still had a massive hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Ok...what's your name, kid?"

He choked out, "Ernesto..."

"Ernesto, listen up. You're with us now, and we ain't gonna let those guys put a hand on. We're gonna take your back to your Dad as soon as we go check in on some friends of mine." Aleksei was face to face with the teen, crouched down, speaking softly with his gravelly voice. "It'll be fine, just keep up with us, and when you see those dead guys, don't panic. We can take care of them. Just be brave and don't do anything stupid. Got it?" Ernesto nodded, which earned him a pat on the shoulder from Rhino. "Alright. Soho's this way, Herman." He pointed towards the east side of Manhattan. "Think we can just cut across?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Let's not spend any more time standing around, though. You lead."

"Come on, kid." Rhino waited for Ernesto to catch up to him, and, side-by-side, they started to walk up the street, away from the apartment building. I took a moment to glance inside the lobby. I could barely hear the moans of the oncoming horde from out on the street. But I did see them coming down the stairs from my vantage point...five or six pairs of feet, shuffling, limping, barely under control. Forward, always moving forward, never retreating or falling back. Just pushing onwards, because whatever had brought them back to life told them to...

A low voice rumbled at me. "You want me to engrave an invitation?"

Rhino and Ernesto had stopped after a few steps. Both of them were staring at me as I shook my head and trotted up to them. "Sorry...got distracted. I'm here, let's go."

"Head in the game, Herman. You're supposed to be the smart one," my friend quipped at me as we headed away from the scene of the massacre.

X

"And he's back in one piece!"

The door to the roof slammed as Boomerang started walking down the stairs. In both corners of the warehouse, a set of white metal steps, left over from the days when this building was a functional warehouse led up to the roof. In case of emergency, the steps were an evacuation route to the roof and the fire escapes down to the street. One of the first things I did after inheriting the hideout from the Tinkerer was to remove the fire escapes. A way down to the street is a way up from the street. Besides, in case of fire, a level three blast would blow a hole big enough in the metal side of the warehouse to let me escape.

After setting my vibro-smashers on the workbench to recharge, I trudged over to meet Fred at the bottom of the stairs. He had a wide smile on his face as he clasped my shoulder. "Two times stupid, mate. Don't give Lady Luck a third chance to screw you over."

"I ain't plannin' on it at the moment," I responded.

"At the moment...I'll take it and put it in the 'win' column. Herman, you look like hell." Concern wasn't an emotion one would often associate with Fred Myers, but he was giving my face a good once over with a worried look. "You walked all the way across Manhattan, on top of the 7-11 fiasco. How the hell ain't you dead on your feet?" I involuntarily cringed at his choice of words...and a second later, so did Fred. "Christ, I didn't mean..."

"It's ok. Hell, I probably feel as bad as I look."

"Why don't you get a nap, then? Hell, it's four in the morning, mate, and you've been jumping all over the island like a kangaroo."

At the word 'nap,' my body signaled its agreement with Boomerang's suggestion by letting out a huge yawn. My mind took a little more convincing though. "Fred, there are dead people walking around New York City. What in the hell makes you think I'm going to able to fall asleep right now? Besides...someone's gotta stay up and keep an eye on things..."

"Aleksei and I can do that. Besides, this place is secure, right? You set it up so Spider-Man would have a hard time kicking in the door. What are the odds of those clumsy things being able to break in?" The cornerstone of my argument was going to be the smashed security door at the Pasario's apartment building, but Fred cut me right off. "Herman, if you don't get to bed now, I'll get Aleksei to tuck you in. Got me?"

I sighed, throwing up my hands, grateful in a way at losing the argument. "Alright, alright, you got me. Six hours, ok? Wake me up at ten."

"Ten? What self-respecting supervillain gets up at ten am?" Boomerang chuckled to himself as I walked away. "Oh, and Herman?"

"Yeah, Fred?"

"Happy birthday."

I admit to smirking even as I shot my laughing friend the middle finger before leaving him for the evening...

X

You may be wondering how, after the events of this evening, how in the hell I can force any attempt at humor, after seeing the results of the massacre at the Prasario's apartment building. More importantly, how can I put a smile on my face when it's likely that the end of the world was staring me, Aleksei, Fred, and everyone else on the planet in the eyes? Simple answer – in the profession I'm in, a sense of humor keeps you sane. Think about it for a second. Men in spandex fighting each other using technology years ahead of anything currently in mass-production, aliens dropping in to eat the planet, demons from another dimension just showing up for a weekend excursion.

Do you know how ABSURD that sounds?

I said earlier, around here, strange stuff is normal. You just gotta roll with the punches as best you can, and for most of us costumed ladies and gentlemen, that involves somehow keeping a sense of humor about the situation, no matter how out there it is. I don't mean quipping like Spider-Man, because that's just annoying. But when the chips are down, gallows humor helps keep you sane.

Now that I was actually on my way to catch some sleep, I felt the weariness really sink in to my bones. Since about 7 pm, I had been almost constantly on the move across Lower Manhattan and putting myself in harm's way against a bunch of walking corpses, pushing my body physically. The one time I had a chance to sit down and breathe was when we watched the Wrecker try to eat Colonel Fury, which, to me, counted as a mental workout...

My sleeping area was just past my workbench. It was walled off by some folding wooden partitions, stained a dark brown with light tan drawings of children at playing around the fabric center, the kind of furniture that attempts to pass as antique the second it rolls off the assembly line in North Carolina. Behind them were a futon, a nightstand, and a dresser, all from Ikea, which is pretty much the official furniture brand for villains. It's cheap, easy to put together, and if need be, most Ikea pieces can be used as impromptu weapons against any do-gooder intruders. If the company had survived the end of civilization, I'd recommend the Klem product lines. Splinters well under pressure, turns into wooden shrapnel without too much effort.

I demagnetized my uniform one piece at a time, starting with my chestpiece. As I pulled it over my head, my arms and shoulder protested loudly, causing me to wince with discomfort. My suit's built for absorbing the impact and recoil of all the vibro-blasts I throw around, but I still have to lug the damn thing around, and it's heavy thanks to layers of quilting and all the contact plates. Add in how many hours I had been active that evening...

Once I got my boots, belt, and pants off, I took a look in the mirror. I didn't see any bruises, which was always a good sign. My body wasn't anything to write home about, but for a guy my age (thirty-two, as a reminder), lugging around a heavy padded suit and metal gloves as a profession...I wasn't Iron Fist, but I wasn't the Blob, either. Short brown hair, a nose broken only once, brown eyes. As far as New Yorkers go, I was another body on the sidewalk.

Grunting, I sat down on the edge of the futon. After setting my alarm for 9:30 am, I rummaged through the nightstand's drawer, looking for something to take the edge off. If I was going to lie down, it was to sleep, not to toss and turn because my muscles ached. Vicodin...tempting. But I wanted to remain alert just in case something went down and I needed to snap to full readiness in five seconds. Right, then. A Schultz Cocktail should do the trick. Two Bayer, two Tylenol, two Advil, two St. John's, and a big gulp of water to help the kidneys and liver process everything. For the same reason I passed on the Vicodin, I passed on the NyQuil. Say no to illegal drugs, kids, but stock up on the over-the-counter ones. Turns out, I didn't really need the NyQuil anyway, because almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, the last thing I heard was Aleksei laughing at one of Fred's jokes before I conked out.

X

"Oh, screw YOU!"

9:27 am. That's what the clock said as Boomerang's comment woke me up. Never fails. Something always opens my eyes just before the damn alarm goes off. That morning, I would have probably slept right through the ringing anyway, as my body was heavily protesting the interruption of roughly six-and-a-half straight hours of sleep. Hell, I would have probably just rolled over and drifted right back off...

...if Boomerang's next utterance hadn't gotten my attention.

"You're a bloody idiot, Norman Osborn."

I was out of bed in an instant at those words.

**Author's Note:**

> All credit goes to Chris Myers on FF.net


End file.
